lifornia 
onal 


BEATRIX   RANDOLPH 


JULIAN     HAWTHORNE 

Author  of  "Fortune's  Fool,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED      BY     ALFRED      FREDERICKS 


BOSTON 
JAMES    R.    OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY 

1884 


Copyright,  1883 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


Press  of  Rockwell  and  Churchill,  Bostor 


OO^TE^TS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  LOVELY  AND  UNFORTUNATE  SHE  WAS  .      .      1 

CHAPTER  II. 

HOW     DESTINY     BEGAN     TO     OCCUPY     ITSELF     WITH 

HER    AFFAIRS 28 

CHAPTER   III. 

HOW    SHE    WAS    WORRIED    AND    PERSECUTED    .  .          47 

CHAPTER  IV. 

IN    WHAT    GUISE    DELIVERANCE    CAME    TO    HER  .          64 

CHAFIER   V. 

WHAT  WAS  GOING  ON  ELSEWHERE       ...       83 

iii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOW   EVERYTHING  WAS    MADE    PLEASANT  AND    EAST 

FOR    HER  ,  .  .  .  .          95 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A    FEW    WORDS    ABOUT    CADWALADER    DlNSMORE    .       113 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

HOW    THEY    ENTERTAINED    THE    NEW    DIVA       .  .123 

CHAPTER   IX. 

HER    FRIENDS.    HER   ENEMIES,    AND    HER   LOVERS     .       141 

CHAPTER   X. 

THE  SUCCESS  AND  GLORY  OF  HER  CAREER  .         .155 

CHAPTER   XI. 

HOW    SHE    WAS    BETRAYED    AND    SLANDERED  .  .       171 

CHAPTER   XII. 

WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED      .         .        ..         .     187 


CONTENTS.  V 

PAGE 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  HER  IN  THE  MEANWHILE     .     205 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

"To    BE    HONEST,    AS   THIS    WORLD    GOES "      .  .       220 

CHAPTER  XV. 

HOW   HER   BROTHER    WAS    PUNISHED        .  .  .       235 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

HOW   THEY   WERE    LOST    IN   THE    STORM  .  .249 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  GREAT  MARANA          ...  ,     265 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


DRA  WJV  B  Y  ALFRED  FREDERICKS. 


PAGE 

"He  turned  to  the  young  diva  and  said,  'That 

must  be  Beethoven'  "  .  131 


"Thank  you,"  she  said;  "and  thank  you  for 
these  flowers.  I  feel  made  over  new ! 
Now  I  can  sing" 163 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  pleasanter  for  you  to 
go  out  of  your  own  accord,  instead  of 
waiting  to  be  .  .  .  .  assisted"  .  .  219 

"As  for  me,  I  sing  no  more!  I  have  been 
your  audience,  Mademoiselle  !  I  will  never 
again  have  an  audience  of  my  own  !  "  .  276 

vii 


BEATRIX  RANDOLPH, 

CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  LOVELY  AND  UNFORTUNATE  SHE  WAS. 

TTTHAT  is  more  worthy  the  contemplation  of 
*  *  a  humane  mind  than  the  spectacle  of  a 
pretty  young  woman  ?  It  is  the  least  selfish  of  all 
pleasures.  By  learning  we  seek  to  elevate  our- 
selves above  our  fellows  ;  by  philosophy,  to  console 
ourselves  for  the  past  and  to  fortify  ourselves  for 
the  future ;  by  religion  (as  it  is  commonly  prac- 
tised), to  make  ourselves  respectable  in  this  world 
and  comfortable  in  the  world  to  come  ;  but  he  who 
stands  rapt  in  the  fascination  of  a  girl's  beauty  en- 
joys the  possession  by  another  of  what  he  can  never 
have  himself,  admits  his  inferiority,  and  generously 
exults  in  the  existence  of  goodness  for  its  own  sake. 
The  sole  drawback  is  the  risk  he  runs  of  falling  in 
love ;  that  is,  of  wishing  to  restrict  to  himself  a 
blessing  designed  to  rejoice  mankind  at  large. 


2  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

It  might  seem  a  pity  that  such  a  girl  as  Beatrix 
Randolph  should  be  so  situated  as  not  to  have  it  in 
her  power  to  confer  upon  every  one  the  unselfish 
gratification  whereof  we  speak.  But  to  be  rare  and 
difficult  of  access  are  among  the  conditions  of  mortal 
loveliness.  In  no  other  way,  perhaps,  could  the 
heavenly  aroma  be  preserved ;  and  were  we  to  be- 
come callous  to  beauty,  as  we  do  to  pain,  life  would 
have  nothing  left  to  promise  us.  On  the  other 
hand,  dulness  is  negative,  delight  positive ;  and  a 
single  day  of  glorious  sunshine  compensates  for  a 
whole  blank  week  of  lifeless  landscape  and  leaden 
sky. 

But  Beatrix,  though  delightful  to  look  upon,  was 
not  beauty  in  the  abstract ;  she  was,  first  of  all,  a 
distinct  and  concrete  human  person.  It  is  fitting, 
therefore,  to  consider  not  so  much  the  loss  the  world 
sustained  by  her  seclusion,  as  its  effect  upon  herself. 
Certainly,  she  was  not  of  a  temperament  naturally 
inclined  to  solitude.  She  was  quick  to  feel  emotions 
of  all  kinds,  and  apt  and  simple  in  the  expression  of 
them.  Her  proportions,  both  of  the  soul  and  the 
body,  were  symmetrical  and  active ;  as  she  moved 
easily  and  sweetly,  so  was  she  sweetly  and  easily 
moved.  Her  life,  in  spite  of  its  circumscribed  con- 
ditions, showed  an  instinctive  love  of  largeness  and 
variety,  and  herein  she  was  helped  by  a  generous 
and  lively  imagination.  She  could  not  read  a  story 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  3 

or  watch  the  sun  rise  without  engendering  in  her 
mind  a  thousand  fresh  ideas  of  the  possibilities  of 
existence ;  and  her  body  was  in  such  fine  harmony 
with  her  spirit  that  you  could  see  a  stirring  thought 
turn  to  roses  in  her  cheeks,  or  conjure  diamonds  to 
her  lovely  eyes.  When  she  came  forth  in  the  morn- 
ing from  her  maiden  chamber,  having  put  on,  let  us 
say,  a  fresh,  white  gown,  just  crisp  enough  to  whisper 
as  she  stepped,  and  a  pink  or  a  blue  ribbon  (as 
fancy  might  dictate)  at  her  throat  and  on  her  hair, 
and  her  figure  elastic  and  alert  with  the  wholesome 
vigor  of  nineteen  years,  and  a  mouth  that  laughed 
fragrance  and  music,  and  large  brown  .eyes,  which, 
besides  being  as  beautiful  as  possible  in  themselves, 
were  rendered  yet  more  so  by  being  a  few  shades 
darker  than  her  rippled  hair  ;  and  .  .  .  and  hands 
that  were  white  wonders  of  warm  flexibility  and 
tapering  softness  ;  when  th^  exquisite  young  Amer- 
ican girl,  in  short,  —  type  of  the  most  charming 
and  most  intelligent  womanhood  in  the  world,  — 
came  dawning  like  Aurora  out  of  the  room  in  which 
she  had  been  dreaming  visions  only  less  lovely 
than  herself,  it  did  seem  as  if  the  Golden  Age 
were  now  about  to  begin,  and  as  if  nothing  false 
or  impure  were  henceforward  possible.  She  ex- 
plained, without  uttering  a  word,  why  the  grass  in 
spring  is  so  deliciously  green,  the  sky  of  so  tender 
a  blue ;  why  birds  sing,  and  water  is  transparent ; 


4  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

why  violets  have  perfume,  and  the  sun  warmth. 
She  was  the  spoken  secret  of  the  universe  —  the 
interpretation  of  its  fairest  elements.  By  what  mis- 
hap, then,  was  such  a  creature  confined  (as  she  was) 
to  a  few  square  miles  of  village  land  in  the  centre 
of  the  State  of  New  York?  Was  such  a  pearl 
created  only  to  be  cast  before  cattle,  and  the  vil- 
lage grocer's  son,  and  the  hollow-chested  young 
Unitarian  minister,  and  the  innkeeper's  daughters? 
The  world  could  not  afford  it ;  and  yet,  there  she 
was,  and,  just  at  the  time  this  story  begins,  there 
seemed  to  be  rather  less  probability  than  usual  of 
her  ever  getting  anywhere  else. 

She  lived  with  her  father  in  a  roomy,  broad- 
beamed,  brown  old  house,  environed  by  elm  trees 
taller,  but  less  antique,  than  itself.  It  was  an 
American  eighteenth-century  house ;  some  hero  of 
the  Revolution  had  passed  a  night  in  it.  It  was  en- 
dowed with  that  open-handed,  patriarchal  aspect 
which  modern-built  houses  never  have,  owing  to 
some  deficiency  in  the  architect's  soul  or  the  owner's 
pocket.  The  hall  was  unnecessarily,  chivalrously 
broad,  and  the  banister  of  the  wide,  low  staircase 
was  polished  and  massive,  and  coiled  itself  round  at 
the  bottom  like  a  mahogany  serpent.  Beatrix  and  her 
brother  Edward  had  slid  down  it,  sideways,  astride, 
or  at  full  length,  innumerable  times.  Edward  had 
also  cut  his  initials  conspicuously  upon  the  boss 


LOVELY   AND    UNFORTUNATE.  5 

in  the  centre  of  the  coil,  for  which  exploit  he  had 
been  separated  for  three  days  from  his  bay  mare. 
But  the  punishment  was  over  years  ago,  while  the 
initials  were  there  still ;  and  Beatrix  (now  that  Ed 
iwas  gone  away)  had  got  the  habit  of  letting  her 
finger-tips  pass  over  them,  with  a  sort  of  good-morn- 
ing caress,  when  she  came  downstairs  early  to  see 
about  the  breakfast.  The  staircase,  before  reaching 
the  first  floor,  indulged  in  a  preliminary  landing,  for 
no  other  reason,  apparently,  than  to  lounge  forth 
through  a  broad  glass  door  upon  the  top  of  the  front 
porch,  thus  forming  a  pleasant  little  balcony.  Over- 
head arched  a  trellis- work,  which  Ed,  who  was  a 
handy  youth,  had  put  up  some  time  subsequent  to 
the  period  of  the  initials,  and  which  was  now  over- 
grown witli  two  climbing-roses  that  he  and  Beatrix 
had  planted.  These  roses,  white  and  red,  began  to 
bloom  with  the  first  warm  days  of  the  year,  and  kept 
on  till  late  in  the  season ;  and  every  day,  while  they 
lasted,  Beatrix  would  pluck  one  from  each  vine,  as 
she  went  downstairs  in  the  morning,  and  wear  them 
in  her  bosom.  Hers  was  the  red  rose,  her  brother's 
was  the  white  ;  and  their  father,  in  those  early  days, 
used  to  declare  with  a  smile  that  the  red  rose  sym- 
bolized his  little  daughter's  warm  and  generous  heart, 
and  the  white  rose,  the  stainless  honor  which  should 
always  characterize  a  son  of  the  Randolphs.  Dur- 
ing the  last  year  or  so,  however,  the  old  gentleman 


6  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

had  made  no  more  fanciful  allusions  to  the  white 
rose,  and  once,  when  he  saw  it  on  his  daughter's 
breast,  he  had  frowned,  and  said  that  it  was  not  be- 
coming. Thereafter,  Beatrix  forebore  to  wear  it 
openly,  but  kept  it  next  her  heart,  unseen.  For 
this  young  woman,  up  to  the  present  time,  had  loved 
no  man  of  anywhere  near  her  own  age,  except  her 
brother  ;  strange  to  say,  she  had  remained  unmoved 
by  the  blandishments  not  only  of  the  hollow-chested 
minister,  but  of  the  grocer's  son  likewise  —  although 
the  former  preached  to  her,  for  her,  or  at  her,  every 
Sunday,  and  the  latter  uplifted  his  voice  in  music 
along  with  hers  in  the  choir.  The  only  other  gen- 
tleman, besides  her  music  master,  with  whom  she  had 
made  acquaintance  since  reaching  years  of  indiscre- 
tion, was  a  friend  of  her  father's,  Hamilton  Jocelyn. 
But  Hamilton  Jocelyn  could  not  have  been  very  far 
from  fifty  years  of  age.  He  was  forty-five,  at  any 
rate ;  and  though  very  entertaining,  and  always 
.ready  to  tell  stories  of  his  travels  and  adventures  at 
home  and  abroad  (when  he  was  attached  to  the  em- 
bassy) ,  and  though  he  was  particularly  kind  and 
genial  to  Mademoiselle  Beatrice,  as  he  called  her, 
still  it  does  not  spontaneously  occur  to  y«ng  ladies 
of  healthy  instincts  to  connect  sentimen^with  per- 
sons of  their  father's  age,  or  thereabouts. 

The  house  stood,  as  has  been  said,  amid  elm  trees, 
on  the  side  of  a  low,  gradual  hill,  which  protected  it 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  7 

on  the  north  and  north-east.  Its  site  was  a  natural 
shelf,  or  level  space,  about  a  dozen  acres  in  extent, 
a  third  of  the  way  up  the  hill.  A  flower-garden 
was  laid  out  on  the  south-west,  and  the  rest  of  the 
area  was  in  turf  and  grass.  The  hillside  at  the  back 
was  terraced,  and  on  the  terraces  were  planted  apple 
and  cherry  trees.  A  stone-wall,  somewhat  out  of 
repair,  faced  in  the  valley-ward  limits  of  the  estate, 
and  a  drive,  branching  off  from  the  main  road, 
passed  through  a  gateway  and  wound  up  toward  the 
house.  The  view  from  the  front  windows  took  in  a 
grand  curve  and  sweep  of  valley,  with  the  long, 
white  village  straggling  off  a  mile  or  more  in  the 
foreground,  and  in  th€  distance  the  gleam  of 
the  river.  The  nearest  railway  station  was  four 
miles  away.  Altogether  the  region  was  sufficiently 
remote,  though  New  York  city  was  hardly  more  than 
three  hours  distant  by  rail.  The  mail  arrived  twice 
a  day  ;  and  Mr.  Alexander  Randolph  (the  owner  of 
the  house  and  estate)  received  yesterday's  World 
every  forenoon,  and  read  it  during  the  hour  preced- 
ing dinner,  which  always  took  place  at  two  o'clock. 
It  was  an  eminently  conservative  Household ;  at  all 
events,  it^naster  was  a  conservative  and  a  demo- 
crat, as  fira  fathers  had  been  before  him. 

These  forefathers  were  of  Virginian  descent,  and, 
two  generations  ago,  had  owned  large  plantations 
there.  But  the  young  Randolph  of  that  epoch  had 


8  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

fallen  in  love  with  a  Northern  lady,  and  ended  by 
marrying  her  and  settling  down  on  this  estate,  which 
was  his  bride's  dowry.  Afterward,  when  his  father 
died,  he  relinquished  the  Virginia  plantation  to  a 
younger  brother,  turning  his  own  share  of  the  inher- 
itance into  money,  which  he  placed  in  various  pru- 
dent and  profitable  investments.  He  became  quite 
wealthy,  and  was  one  of  the  prominent  men  of  the 
State ;  but  both  he  and  his  descendants  were  always 
proud  to  call  Virginia  their  home,  and  to  talk  about 
revisiting  it.  Meanwhile,  however,  the  Virginian 
branch  of  the  family  had  gradually  decayed,  and  the 
last  male  bearer  of  the  name  was  killed  in  the  civil 
war,  and  the  plantations,  W  course,  were  destroyed. 
It  was  at  about  this  juncture  that  Alexander  Ran- 
dolph's troubles  began.  As  a  thorough-going  dem- 
ocrat he  was  inclined  to  sympathize  with  secession, 
and  the  fact  of  his  Southern  kinsmen  being  of  that 
party  did  not  diminish  his  rebellious  bent.  But  he 
was  an  almost  morbidly  conscientious  man,  and  prone 
to  casuistry,  and  he  was  torn  with  doubts  as  to  whether 
or  not  he  ought  to  show  the  courage  of  his  opinions, 
and  openly  join  the  rebel  cause.  He  was  careful  to 
carry  on  the  argument  on  no  lower  a  level  than  that 
of  abstract  political  justice  ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  had  been  married  not  long  before  the  war  broke 
out,  and  men  of  no  less  eminent  morality  than  the 
Randolphs  have  before  now  been  influenced  in  their 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  9 

career  by  domestic  circumstances.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  the  political  reasons  in  favor  of  remaining  in 
the  North  steadily  gained  weight,  until  the  moment 
when  he  was  thrown  from  his  horse  and  broke  his 
thigh.  From  that  period  he  was  all  for  joining  Gen- 
eral Lee,  but,  unfortunately,  was  physically  incapac- 
itated from  doing  so  by  his  accident.  Such  is  the 
perversity  of  fate  in  this  world !  But  he  consoled 
himself  for  his  disappointment  by  talking  treason 
more  or  less  overtly,  according  to  circumstances  ;  and 
even,  it  was  said,  by  affording  the  Southern  cause 
pecuniary  aid.  He  certainly  believed  in  the  ultimate 
success  of  the  secession  principle,  and  when  it  finally 
collapsed,  he  found  himself  embarrassed  in  more 
senses  than  one.  He  had  lost  money,  repute,  and 
good-will  toward  men ;  possibly,  also,  some  trifle  of 
self-esteem,  though  he  never  confessed  as  much. 
"With  intent  to  compel  a  better  fortune,  he  soon  after 
ran  for  an  office,  but  was  defeated,  as  a  foregone 
conclusion,  by  a  crushing  majority.  To  crown  all, 
he  lost  his  wife,  to  whom  he  was  devotedly  attached  ; 
she  died  of  typhoid  fever  in  1868.  He  was  left 
with  two  children,  a  boy  of  ten  and  a  girl  of  six. 
He  renounced  the  world,  theoretically,  if  not  quite 
practically,  — in  truth,  he  had  few  friends,  and  was 
able  to  see  them  but  seldom.  He  spent  most  of  his 
time  at  home,  running  down  to  New  York  twice  a 
year  for  perhaps  a  week.  He  was  a  great  reader 


10  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

of  Shakespeare,  of  Bunyan,  of  Defoe,  of  Victor 
Hugo,  and  of  Washington  Irving.  Owing  to  his 
broken  leg,  which  had  healed  badly,  he  was  obliged 
to  give  up  riding ;  but  he  limped  dignifiedly  about 
his  estate,  with  a  cane  in  one  hand,  and  the  other 
upon  Ed's  or  Beatrix's  shoulder,  issuing  peremp- 
tory orders  to  the  gardener  or  the  groom,  which 
were  sometimes  heeded  and  sometimes  not ;  for 
Mr.  Randolph,  though  of  a  haughty  and  head- 
strong character,  was  not  what  is  called  thorough, 
and  seldom  followed  up  a  matter  far  enough  to  know 
whether  it  were  done  in  accordance  with  his  desire 
or  not.  He  liked  to  be  masterful ;  but  he  was  too 
indolent,  or  too  inconstant,  to  be  a  master.  He 
demanded  immaculate  faithfulness  from  his  servants, 
and  unquestioning  obedience  from  his  children,  but 
never  took  the  pains  to  insure  either  the  one  or  the 
other.  Such  men,  being  able  intellectually  to  con- 
ceive admirable  conduct,  give  themselves  credit 
(without  further  ado)  for  practising  it ;  and  since, 
nevertheless,  the  results  which  should  follow  admi- 
rable conduct  do  not  occur,  they  count  themselves 
among  the  martyrs  of  virtue.  They  commonly  re- 
ceive a  good  deal  of  petting  and  humoring,  but  they 
seldom  or  never  leave  any  lasting  impression  on  the 
world. 

Alexander  Randolph  was  tall  and  of  slender  build, 
with  high  shoulders,  a  gray  mustache  and  imperial, 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  H 

and  thick,  wavy  hair,  growing  rather  long.  His  eye- 
brows were  bushy  and  overhanging,  and  gave  to  his 
eyes  a  fiercer  expression  than  might  otherwise  have 
belonged  to  them ;  he  had  a  habit  of  twisting  them 
between  his  thumb  and  finger,  when  in  thought, 
which  looked  ominous  to  strangers,  but  really 
amounted  to  nothing.  His  fingers  were  very  long, 
and  so  were  his  arguments  and  discussions ;  almost 
the  only  short  thing  about  him,  in  fact,  being  his 
temper.  His  general  aspect  was  that  of  a  retired 
Southern  brigadier,  whose  slaves  had  been  unright- 
eously made  contraband.  His  expression  was,  ordi- 
narily, profoundly  serious,  and  he  smiled  rarely ;  but 
it  was  not  difficult  to  make  him  break  into  a  shrill, 
giggling  laugh,  which  absurdly  marred  the  severe 
contour  of  his  visage,  and  betrayed  the  underlying 
weakness. 

He  was  fond  of  phrases,  and  had  a  fancy  for  calling 
himself  "the  most  indulgent  of  fathers,"  the  basis  for 
which  was,  that  he  was  prone  to  feel  affection  for 
persons  who  appertained  to  him,  and  to  whom  he  was 
accustomed,  and  that  he  had  an  easy  and  graceful 
way  of  acceding  to  proposals  which  did  not  interfere 
with  plans  of  his  own,  or  make  demands  either  upon 
his  leisure  or  upon  what  he  was  pleased  to  term  his 
"time."  In  so  far  he  did  no  doubt  indulge  his 
children,  even  more  than  was  good  for  them;  but 
whenever  they  transgressed  the  moral  law  of  their 


12  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

father's  good-humor  or  indolence,  —  and  this  was  not 
seldom  the  case  with  Ed,  who  was  as  restless  and 
independent  as  a  hawk,  —  he  fell  upon  them  with 
sweeping  broadsides  of  rebuke,  culminating,  if  they 
answered  him  back,  in  violent  assertions  of  their 
total  depravity.  Hence  a  perception  on  the  chil- 
dren's part  that  papa  was  not  unalterably  just, 
which  begat  an  affectionate  compassion  for  him  in 
Beatrix,  but  in  Ed,  a  sentiment  not  far  removed 
from  contemptuous  indifference.  The  children  were, 
however,  cordially  devoted  to  each  other.  Beatrix 
was  ambitious  to  imitate  and  support  her  brother  in 
all  his  feats  and  escapades  ;  she  ran  races  with- him, 
vaulted  gates,  climbed  trees,  fired  off  his  shot-gun  at 
woodchucks  and  squirrels, —  though  to  hit  them  gave 
her  acute  distress,  —  and,  in  every  way  she  could, 
played  an  ardent  second  fiddle  to  him.  Hereby  she 
acquired  (if  she  acquired  nothing  else)  a  vigor  of 
health  and  strength,  and  a  variety  of  hearty  out-door 
experience  that  does  not  fall  to  the  lot  of  all  American 
girls.  As  the  children  grew  into  their  teens,  horse- 
back riding  became  their  favorite  diversion,  and  they 
made  a  fine  picture  cantering  together  side  by  side 
through  the  green  shade  and  sunlight  of  the  woodland 
ways.  Ed,  from  being  a  bony  and  angular  lad,  be- 
came in  due  time  a  sufficiently  graceful  and  athletic 
youth,  with  handsome  blue  eyes  and  bold  and  spirited 
features.  In  disposition  he  was  warm-hearted,  ad- 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  13 

venturous,  and  selfish ;  audaciously  outspoken  when 
his  temper  was  up,  but  capable  of  a  no  less  audacious 
dissimulation  when  that  suited  his  purpose.  No  one 
could  speak  the  truth  with  a  more  reckless  disregard 
of  consequences,  or  tell  a  lie  with  more  inscrutable 
composure  than  he.  He  had  much  more  intelligence, 
energy,  and  grasp  than  his  father ;  but  his  curiosity 
and  his  apprehension  were  both  so  lively  that  he  ap- 
peared very  fickle.  There  was  robust  masculine 
fibre  in  him,  and  some  deficiency  of  moral  sensitive- 
ness. He  showed  small  reverence  for  anybody  or 
thing  except  Beatrix.  In  her  eyes  he  was  always 
anxious  to  maintain  the  gallant  and  noble  character 
which  she  ascribed  to  him ;  and  though  he  made  her 
the  confidant  of  a  thousand  private  matters  which  he 
would  never  have  dreamed  of  mentioning  to  his 
father,  yet,  as  he  grew  older,  he  carefully  concealed 
from  her  some  things  which  he  knew  would  lower 
him  in  her  esteem.  It  might  be  said  that  he  feared 
nothing  except  the  forfeiture  of  her  love  for  him. 

Ed  was  sent  to  school,  but  the  study  of  books 
had  no  part  in  his  scheme  of  existence.  He  had  an 
inventive  brain,  a  quick  insight  into  the  elements  of 
things,  and  much  manual  dexterity ;  and  he  pos- 
sessed, moreover,  an  aptitude  for  mathematics, 
especially  in  their  practical  applications.  But  any- 
thing abstract  or  ornamental  in  the  way  of  learning 
he  despised  and  abjured.  On  the  other  hand,  he 


14  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

was  a  born  leader  of  boys  in  all  those  pursuits  that 
are  aside  from,  or  hostile  to,  the  regular  school 
curriculum  ;  and  the  pedagogue  soon  found  that  this 
scholar  was  likely,  if  allowed  his  way,  to  overthrow 
the  entire  educational  system  of  the  village.  The 
worthy  man  strove,  to  the  extent  of  his  faculty  and 
permission,  to  subdue  the  sturdy  outlaw.  He  was  at 
length  compelled  to  invoke  the  parental  authority. 
This  led  to  some  stormy  scenes  between  father  and 
son,  but  to  no  good  result;  and  the  end  of  it  was 
that  Ed,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  was  taken  from  school 
and  let  loose  upon  the  neighborhood,  where  he 
worked  out  his  own  evolution  pretty  much  as  he 
pleased.  The  following  year  Hamilton  Jocelyn, 
being  on  a  visit  of  a  few  days  to  the  Randolphs,  was 
tickled  by  Ed's  bearing,  and  the  story  of  his  exploits, 
and  offered  to  take  him  back  with  him  to  New  York 
city  for  a  month  or  so,  to  give  him  instruction  in  the 
laws  and  amenities  of  polite  society.  Mr.  Randolph 
easily  persuaded  himself  that  this  was  a  providential 
last  chance  to  tame  the  ferocity  of  his  offspring ;  but 
though,  characteristically,  he  grounded  his  decision 
on  the  question  of  the  benefit  to  Ed,  the  real  weight 
in  the  scale  was  the  temporary  freedom  from  annoy- 
ance which  would  accrue  to  Mr.  Randolph  himself. 
As  for  Ed,  the  prospect  excited  and  pleased  him ; 
and,  though  he  did  love  his  sister,  he  was  not  nearly 
so  much  disturbed  at  this,  their  first  parting,  as  she 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  15 

was.  He  would  not  even  have  wished  to  have  her 
go  with  him,  had  such  a  thing  been  possible.  This 
fact  may  indicate  that  he  had  formed  a  shrewder 
estimate  of  Hamilton  Jocelyn's  character  than  his 
father  had  done,  though  the  latter  and  Jocelyn  had 
been  acquainted  for  more  than  twenty  years,  and 
that  he  looked  forward  to  being  initiated  into  other 
things  besides  the  ways  of  polite  society  in  New 
York.  He  went  off,  accordingly,  and  the  month 
hud  prolonged  itself  to  six  before  he  came  back. 
His  father  thought  that  he  had  been  improved  by 
his  sojourn  there.  Beatrix  sometimes  fancied  the 
contrary ;  but  she  could  have  assigned  no  definite 
reason  for  her  opinion.  He  seemed  a  little  less  un- 
reservedly than  before  her  brother — that  was  all. 
That,  however,  may  have  been  only  the  natural  result 
of  so  long  a  separation.  He  was  older  —  more  of  a 
man ;  and  men,  of  course,  must  be  different  from 
boys.  He  had  brought  back  with  him,  certainly,  a 
great  deal  of  entertaining  talk,  and  gave  her  endless 
accounts  of  the  great  city,  its  streets,  its  houses,  its 
horses,  its  theatres ;  above  all,  of  its  operas  and  its 
concerts.  Both  she  and  Ed  had  always  been 
passionately  devoted  to  music  ;  they  had  understood 
it,  by  the  light  of  nature,  as  it  were,  from  a  very 
early  age,  and  had  constantly  practised  ever  since. 
Ed.'s  voice  was  not  of  much  use,  but  he  was  an 
admirable  performer  on  the  violin.  Beatrix,  on  the 


16  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

other  hand,  was  above  all  things  a  singer,  and  her 
voice  developed  into  a  soprano  of  remarkable  range 
and  power.  Amid  such  surroundings  as  hers  it  was, 
of  course,  impossible  to  estimate  her  faculty  by  any 
trustworthy  standard ;  but,  in  her  own  little  circle, 
she  attained  great  celebrity,  and  the  church  choir 
would  have  been  nothing  without  her.  Her  studies 
were  not  confined  to  church  music.  She  knew  by 
heart  all  the  great  operas  and  oratorios ;  and,  in 
pursuance  of  the  marked  dramatic  ability  which  she 
possessed,  she  had,  with  Ed's  assistance,  acted  out 
scenes  from  many  of  the  former  (so  far  as  two  per- 
formers might)  on  the  stage  of  the  back  drawing-room. 
The  audience  on  such  occasions  was  sometimes  purely 
imaginary ;  but  generally  Mr.  Randolph,  who  pro- 
fessed to  be  a  connoisseur  in  musical  affairs,  occupied 
the  auditorium,  and  applauded  with  sage  discrimina- 
tion. Often  his  presence  was  supplemented  by  that 
of  the  clergyman,  who  took  a  more  than  friendly 
interest  in  Beatrix,  and  whose  expressions  of  enthu- 
siasm were,  therefore,  perhaps  less  to  be  depended 
on  than  those  of  an  entirely  impartial  listener  would 
have  been.  On  the  other  hand,  it  might  be  said, 
however,  that  no  one  who  had  listened  to  and  looked 
at  Beatrix  for  ten  minutes  could  ever  afterward  be 
impartial.  Men  are  but  mortal,  and  no  man  not 
deaf  and  blind  could  be  insensible  to  her  enchant- 
ment both  of  voice  and  aspect.  One  day  Hamilton 


LOVELY   AND    UNFORTUNATE.  17 

Jocelyn,  who  had  heard  all  the  famous  singers  of  the 
world  in  his  time,  attended  one  of  these  private  en- 
tertainments. Contrary  to  expectation  he  turned 
out  to  be  the  most  eulogistic  auditor  that  Beatrix  had 
ever  had,  and  he  wound  up  his  praises  by  declaring 
that  she  must  be  provided  with  a  master,  to  bring 
her  voice  out.  The  most  indulgent  of  fathers  was 
gratified  by  this  tribute  of  admiration,  from  such  a 
source,  to  his  favorite  child  ;  and  a  week  or  so  after- 
ward the  master  was  sent  out.  Jocelyn's  acquaint- 
ance with  musical  and  theatrical  people  and  things 
was  larger  than  most  people's,  and  he  had  fixed  upon 
a  man  eminently  qualified  to  do  what  was  required 
of  him.  This  was  an  elderly  Englishman  of  respect- 
able antecedents,  who,  twenty  years  before,  had 
begun  his  musical  career  with  what  was  considered 
the  finest  tenor  voice  of  the  age,  and  whose  knowl- 
edge of  the  principles  of  music  was  as  profound  as 
his  proficiency  was  remarkable.  But,  before  he  had 
been  a  year  on  the  operatic  stage,  the  theatre  in  which 
he  was  singing  caught  fire,  and  he  was  burned  about 
the  throat  in  such  a  way  as  forever  to  destroy  the 
voice  which  would  have  made  him  rich  and  famous 
enough  to  satisfy  ambition  itself.  Professor  Dori- 
mar,  as  he  afterward  came  to  be  called,  had  some 
small  private  means,  which  rendered  him  in  a  humble 
way  independent ;  and,  with  a  philosophical  serenity 
which  rarely  characterizes  the  musical  temperament, 


18  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

he  settled  quietly  down  to  be  a  writer  on  the  art  and 
science  of  whose  highest  triumphs  he  could  never 
more  hope  to  partake.  He  published  a  book  on  the 
subject  of  vocal  culture,  which  will  remain  a  classic 
with  all  who  have  intelligently  read  it ;  and  he  con- 
tributed occasional  articles  on  musical  problems  and 
mysteries  to  the  higher  class  of  reviews.  For  the 
last  eight  years  he  had  liv^d  in  New  York ;  but  he 
was  known  to  very  few.  He  sat  with  his  piano,  and 
his  manuscripts,  and  his  visions  of  divine  harmonies, 
in  a  retired  little  room  a  few  blocks  west  of  Wash- 
ington square,  and  seldom  went  forth  save  to  listen, 
for  half  an  hour,  to  one  or  other  of  the  very  few 
singers  who,  in  his  judgment,  were  great  enough  to 
sing.  He  never  was  known  to  have  undertaken  the 
personal  instruction  of  pupils,  though  he  might  un- 
doubtedly have  derived  a  large  income  from  so  doing. 
But  he  was  of  opinion  that  the  right  to  use  the  voice 
in  music  is  given  to  but  two  or  three  in  an  age,  and 
the  chance  that  the  training  of  one  so  gifted  should 
fall  to  him  was  too  remote  to  be  considered.  To 
the  myriad  chances  of  failure  he  preferred  his  com- 
parative poverty  and  his  peace  of  mind. 

What  arguments  Jocelyn  employed  to  woo  him 
from  his  reserve  cannot  be  known.  But  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph received  a  note  from  the  Professor,  men- 
tioning the  day  and  hour  of  his  arrival,  and  re- 
questing Mr.  Randolph  to  meet  him  and  drive  him 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  19 

up  from  the  railway  station  alone.  This  was  done, 
and  on  the  way  the  Professor  stipulated  that  he 
should  be  enabled  to  hear  Miss  Randolph's  voice 
before  she  was  aware  of  his  presence.  "There  is  a 
train  back  to  the  city  this  evening,  sir,"  he  remarked, 
"  and,  if  I  should  conclude  to  take  it,  it  would  be 
well  to  have  spared  the  young  lady  the  annoyance 
of  an  interview."  The  matter  was  readily  managed. 
Beatrix  sang  with  the  unembarrassed  freedom  of  sup- 
posed solitude,  and  the  Professor  listened.  When 
the  young  lady  had  finished  her  selection,  whatever 
it  was,  she  rose  from  the  piano  and  passed  out 
through  the  open  window  of  the  room  to  the 
veranda.  Here  she  was  surprised  by  the  appa- 
rition of  a  meagre  and  pallid  personage,  of  gentle- 
manly bearing  and  aspect,  with  a  broad  scar  on  the 
right  side  of  his  face  and  throat,  and  many  thought- 
ful lines  and  wrinkles  on  his  brow  and  around  his 
eyes,  who  advanced  toward  her  with  a  bow,  and 
took  her  hand.  As  she  looked  at  him,  she  fancied 
there  were  tears  in  his  eyes.  "Miss  Randolph," 
he  said,  in  a  low  and  very  pleasant  voice,  "I  am  to 
have  the  honor  of  being  your  instructor ;  my  name 
is  Dorimar,"  He  said  no  more  at  that  time,  but 
raised  her  soft  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  with  another 
bow,  disappeared.  He  did  not  take  the  evening 
train  back  to  the  city,  but,  on  the  contrary,  tool? 
up  his  abode  in  the  Randolnhs'  house,  and  being,  in 


20  BEATRIX.    RANDOLPH. 

addition  to  his  musical  attainments,  a  man  of  culti- 
vation, and  of  a  singular  naive  charm  of  character, 
he  was  nearly  as  much  of  an  acquisition  to  Mr. 
Randolph  as  to  his  daughter,  and  they  all  became 
very  good  friends.  As  to  his  teaching,  it  was  a 
matter  between  his  pupil  and  himself,  and  was 
not  often  referred  to  outside.  It  seemed  to  afford 
him  especial  pleasure  to  think  that  Beatrix  was 
singing  for  music's  sake,  and  without  any  purpose 
of  publishing  or  profiting  by  her  acquirements. 
"Music  is  a  sacred  thing,  my  child,"  he  would 
often  say  to  her,  "and,  like  all  sacred  things,  it 
is  shamefully  and  almost  universally  desecrated. 
It  is  not  a  mere  question  of  voice  and  ear,  but  of 
purity  and  loftiness  of  soul.  Great  music  never  was 
greatly  sung  by  a  charlatan,  or  a  libertine,  or  a 
fortune-hunter.  I,  for  my  part,  thank  God  that  you 
are  what  you  are,  and  that  you  will  never  be  obliged 
to  weigh  your  music  against  gold.  The  world  may 
listen  to  you,  if  it  can ;  but  you  shall  be  spared  the 
insult  of  receiving  for  it  what  it  dares  to  call 
recompense  ! "  This  was  Professor  Dorimar's  hobby, 
and  was  almost  the  only  topic  that  brought  color  to 
his  cheeks.  Beatrix  sometimes  asked  him  vague 
questions  about  the  musical  profession,  its  ways  and 
conditions;  but  he  would  never  answer  them.  "A 
good  woman,"  he  would  say,  "will  always  find  more 
good  than  evil  in  the  world ;  and  she  can  only  suffer 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  21 

by  the  reports  of  it  given  by  those  who  are  not  good. 
It  is  the  purity  or  the  frailty  of  the  heart  that  clears 
or  blocks  the  path  before  you.  Take  no  one's 
experience  as  the  guide  and  measure  of  your  own 
life.  What  is  true  for  them  will  not  be  true  for 
you."  Beatrix  acquiesced  in  all  this  wisdom ;  but 
somewhere  in  her  secret  soul  she  may  have  cherished 
the  germ  of  an  ambition  to  meet  great  multitudes  of 
her  fellow-creatures,  to  test  herself  upon  them, 
perhaps  to  delight  and  inspire  them,  if  there  were 
power  in  her  so  to  do.  But  it  was  all  imagination 
—  air-castles  of  the  airiest  kind.  Young  ladies  of 
wealth  and  blue  blood  do  not  sing  for  a  living,  and 
people  do  not  come  before  the  public  except  for  the 
purpose  of  making  a  living  in  some  way.  Besides, 
she  was  only  the  most  obscure  of  amateurs,  ani 
probably  could  not  for  a  moment  bear  comparison 
with  a  thousand  professional  singers,  not  to  speak 
of  the  great  ones  at  the  summit  of  the  art.  She 
would  have  given  the  best  ten  years  of  her  life,  she 
thought,  to  have  heard  those  great  ones ;  but  Pro- 
fessor Dorimar,  on  various  pretexts,  opposed  the 
idea.  "  Some  day,  when  you  are  the  wife  of  some 
fine  fellow,  you  can  see  and  hear  all  you  wish  to," 
he  said ;  "  but  do  not  spoil  it  all  by  beginning  too 
soon,  — before  you  can  understand  and  discriminate." 
Mr.  Randolph,  if  he  had  had  a  large  circle  of  fash- 
ionable friends  in  New  York,  might  have  been  in- 


22  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

clined  to  spend  a  season  there  with  the  ornament  of 
so  pretty  and  accomplished  a  daughter ;  but,  as 
things  were,  he  felt  that  he  would  best  consult  his 
vanity  by  keeping  her  at  home.  So  at  home  she  re- 
mained, up  to  the  time  of  entering  upon  her  twentieth 
year.  Then,  several  things  happened. 

In  the  first  place,  Ed  went  to  Europe.  There 
was  some  pretext  about  his  attending  lectures  at  a 
university  of  mining  engineering  in  Saxony ;  but  it 
was  a  tolerably  transparent  pretext.  His  father  was 
of  the  opinion  that  the  expense  of  maintaining 
him  abroad  Avould  be  more  than  repaid  by  the  com- 
fort of  not  having  him  at  home.  His  propensity  to 
get  into  mischief  had  not  diminished  of  late,  and  the 
kinds  of  mischief  he  got  into  as  a  young  man,  if  less 
noisy  than  his  boyish  escapades,  were  certainly  not 
less  objectionable.  He  would  be  better  in  countries 
where  nobody  knew  him  or.  was  held  responsible 
for  him,  than  here,  where  all  his  sins  were  laid  at 
Mr.  Randolph's  door.  Whether  this  were  the  most 
conscientious  way  of  dealing  with  a  troublesome  son, 
the  most  indulgent  of  fathers  did  not  earnestly  in- 
quire. He  may  have  contented  himself  with  the  as- 
surance that  a  scapegrace  like  Ed  would  never  be 
good  for  anything  until  he  had  had  a  chance  to  get 
the  nonsense  knocked  out  of  him  by  the  world. 
Whether  he  went  to  Saxony  in  quest  of  this  result, 
or  to  Central  Africa,  or  to  the  North  Pole,  was  of 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  23 

no  particular  consequence.  That  he  should  come 
back,  at  the  end  of  two  or  three  years,  somewhat 
toned  down,  was  the  best  Mr.  Randolph  hoped.  As 
to  the  question  of  funds,  after  a  good  deal  of  medi- 
tation, Mr.  Randolph  came  to  the  following  rather 
eccentric  determination  :  Ed  was  to  be  allowed  to 
draw  on  the  paternal  resources  for  whatever  sums  of 
money  he,  from  time  to  time,  might  require.  "You 
may  draw  little,  or  you  may  draw  much,  my  son," 
the  old  gentleman  said,  "  and,  be  it  much  or  little,  all 
your  drafts  will  be  duly  honored.  I  shall  not  restrict 
you  nor  advise  you,  but  I  shall  depend  upon  your 
own  sense  of  honor  and  decency,  as  a  Randolph  and 
a  gentleman,  not  to  abuse  my  confidence  in  you."  This 
speech  seemed  to  the  utterer  of  it  very  noble  and  im- 
pressive, and  also  very  sagacious  and  worldly-wise. 
For  if  to  put  a  young  fellow  upon  his  honor  will 
not  make  him  reasonably  virtuous  and  economical, 
what  will?  Ed  certainly  showed  himself  pleased 
with  the  arrangement,  if  not  so  much  impressed  by 
the  phrases  in  which  it  was  announced  to  him,  con- 
cerning which,  indeed,  he  privately  and  figuratively 
remarked  to  his  sister  that  the  old  man  seemed  to 
think  that  talkee-talkee  was  the  philosopher's  stone  ! 
It  is  not  to  be  inferred  from  this  that  Ed  had  any 
intention  of  committing  an  outrage  upon  the  family 
estate.  He  was  an  enterprising  and  able  youth,  and 
probably  expected  to  bring  home  all  the  treasures  of 


24  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

the  earth,  at  the  end  of  his  two  or  three  years,  and 
decorate  the  old  homestead  with  them,  not  to  men- 
tion bestowing  an  emperor's  ransom  upon  Beatrix 
for  her  dowry.  So  he  departed  on  his  journey,  quite 
with  the  air  (in  his  sister's  eyes  at  least)  of  a  hero  of 
romance.  And  she  shed  many  tears,  some  because 
she  should  not  see  him  again  for  so  long,  and  some 
because  she  could  not  go  with  him,  and  some  she 
could  scarcely  have  told  wherefore.  "Poor  dear  Ed," 
she  said  to  herself  often,  with  an  affectionate,  uneasy 
sigh,  "  I  do  hope  nothing  very  bad  will  happen  to 
him!  " 

The  next  thing  that  occurred  in  this  eventful  year 
was  an  offer  of  marriage,  emanating  from  no  less 
distinguished  a  personage  than  Hamilton  Jocelyn 
himself.  Beatrix  thought  it  was  exceedingly  funny 
he  should  do  such  a  thing,  and  not  altogether  com- 
fortable ;  but  as  it  was  instinctive  with  her  to  con- 
sider other  people's  feelings  almost  as  much  as  her 
own,  and  sometimes  more,  she  suppressed  her  emo- 
tions, and  expressed  her  acknowledgments,  adding 
that  she  had  no  idea  of  marrying  anybody.  When 
Jocelyn  found  that  her  resolve  was  not  to  be  shaken, 
he  very  gracefully  said  that  to  have  known  and  loved 
her  was  a  privilege  and  a  revelation  for  which  he 
should  never  cease  to  be  indebted  to  her.  He  said 
that  he  had,  perhaps,  presumed  too  much  in  hoping 
that  she  could  ever  care  for  a  grizzled  old  fellow  like 


LOVELY  AND   UNFORTUNATE.  25 

himself;  but  that  his  sentiments  would  never  change, 
and  that  if,  at  any  future  time,  circumstances  should 
lead  her  to  reconsider  her  present  views,  she  would 
find  him  eager  and  grateful  to  throw  himself  at  her 
feet.  He  concluded  by  requesting  that  she  would 
forbear  to  mention  the  episode  to  any  one,  even  to 
her  father,  lest  the  latter  should  be  grieved  to  dis- 
cover that  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  consent  to 
an  alliance  with  his  oldest  friend.  Beatrix  replied 
that  she  had  no  wish  to  speak  of  what  had  occurred, 
and  that  she  hoped  they  both  would  forget  it  as  soon 
as  possible.  Hereupon  Jocelyn  took  his  leave,  and 
went  back  to  New  York,  probably  regretting  the  is- 
sue of  the  adventure  almost  as  much  as  he  professed 
to  do,  although  perhaps  for  reasons  other  than  those 
he  thought  it  expedient  to  allege. 

The  third  event  was  the  death  of  poor  Professor 
Dorimar,  which  occurred  suddenly,  and  filled  Beatrix 
with  grief,  notwithstanding  that  it  appeared,  in  one 
sense,  the  most  natural  thing  that  could  have  hap- 
pened to  the  good  and  magnanimous  old  man.  He 
had  had  a  habit  of  looking  upward  as  he  talked,  and 
Beatrix  had  thought  that  he  seemed  much  of  the 
time  communing  with  a  better  world,  and  perhaps 
derived  from  some  angelic  source  his  grand  ideas 
about  music  and  its  mission  to  mankind.  It  was  the 
first  death  the  girl  had  ever  witnessed,  and  it  invested 
the  three  years  of  the  association  together  of  the 


26  BEATRIX   EANDOLPH. 

pupil  and  her  master  with  a  sort  of  retrospective 
sanctity.  They  had  been  altogether  the  happiest 
years  of  Beatrix's  life.  The  Professor  had  taught  her 
something  else  besides  how  to  sing.  Less  by  words 
than  by  some  tacit,  sympathetic  influence  he  had  led 
her  to  perceive  and  meditate  upon  the  nobler  and 
loftier  aspects  and  capacities  of  human  nature.  As 
to  his  share  in  her  vocal  culture,  and  her  own  pro- 
ficiency, he  never  had  made  any  definite  pronounce- 
ment;  but,  on  the  morning  before  his  death,  he  re- 
quested her  to  sing  for  him  the  air  from  Handel's 
oratorio  of  "  The  Messiah "  —  "I  know  that  my 
Redeemer  liveth."  When  she  had  finished,  he  said, 
"  My  child,  you  have  enabled  me  to  thank  God  that 
my  voice  was  destroyed,  and  that  my  life  has  been, 
for  so  many  years,  a  lonely  disappointment.  I  have 
had  triumphs  and  blessings  that  most  men  do  not 
even  know  how  to  desire.  A  mighty  sceptre  is  in 
your  hand,"  he  went  on,  turning  his  grave  and  gen- 
tle eyes  upon  her.  "  I  have  helped  to  show  you 
how  to  wield  it.  Power  is  very  sweet,  but  it  needs 
almost  an  angel  not  to  use  it  harmfully.  I  don't 
know  what  life  may  be  before  you,  my  dear;  but, 
whatever  it  be,  I  trust  that  when  you  come  to  the 
end  of  it  you  will  find  as  little  cause  to  regret  hav- 
ing met  me  as  I  have  much  cause  to  rejoice  that 
I  have  known  you."  Beatrix  hardly  knew  how  to 
understand  this  at  the  time ;  but,  afterward,  the 


LOVELY  AND    UNFORTUNATE.  27 

words  frequently  revisited  her  memory,  and  may  have 
had  some  influence  over  her  at  critical  moments  of 
her  career. 

Still  another  matter  remains  to  be  alluded  to,  also 
of  a  distasteful  character,  and  threatening  more 
serious  practical  consequences  than  any  of  the 
others.  But  this  long  and  desultory  introduction 
may  as  well  end  here,  and  means  shall  be  found  to 
make  the  reader  acquainted  with  the  final  calamity 
by  another  channel. 


CHAPTER  II. 

HOW     DESTINY    BEGAN     TO     OCCUPY    ITSELF    WITH 
HER   AFFAIRS. 

/^\NE  morning  in  the  early  autumn  a  gentleman 
^-^  was  performing  his  toilet  in  one  of  the  hand- 
some bedchambers  of  a  certain  hotel  near  Union 
Square,  in  the  city  of  New  York.  He  was  appar- 
ently about  fifty  years  of  age,  of  medium  height, 
stout,  with  a  broad,  flat  head,  from  the  top  of  which 
the  hair  had  disappeared,  leaving  a  bushy  ring  round 
the  sides  and  back.  His  face,  which  was  ruddy  and 
broad,  with  a  large  nose  and  a  thick  mouth, 
indicated  coarse  good-nature  and  shrewdness,  tem- 
pered by  irritability.  At  the  moment  we  come 
upon  him  he  was  standing  in  his  shirt  and  trousers 
before  the  looking-glass,  endeavoring  to  adjust  a 
scarf  necktie  of  brilliant  colors.  Something  seemed 
to  be  wrong  with  the  fastenings,  and,  after  a  few 
ineffectual  struggles,  he  wrathfully  flung  this  impor- 
tant article  of  a  gentleman's  attire  on  the  floor, 
emphasizing  the  act  with  an  audible  expletive.  He 
then  walked  to  the  mantel-piece  and  poured  some  of 


HER  DESTINY.  29 

the  contents  of  a  decanter  into  a  tumbler,  gazed  at 
the  liquor  for  a  moment,  and  tossed  it  down  his 
throat.  He  turned  to  the  table,  upon  which,  among 
various  other  articles,  was  lying  a  foreign  cablegram. 
He  took  this  up  and  glanced  over  it  gloomily,  then 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  trousers-pockets  and  strode 
heavily  to  the  window,  where  he  remained,  making 
inarticulate  grunts  and  mutterings,  and  occasionally 
puckering  his  thick  lips  to  whistle  a  few  bars  of  some 
operatic  air. 

After  a  while  his  Avandering  gaze  was  arrested  by 
the  figure  of  a  gentleman,  fashionably  dressed,  who 
was  coming  along  the  street  in  the  direction  of  the 
hotel.  He  stepped  hastily  across  the  room,  and 
pressed  the  button  of  the  electric  bell  beside  the 
door. 

"Tell  the  clerk,"  he  said  to  the  servant  who 
presently  answered  the  summons,  "to  ask  Mr. 
Hamilton  Jocelyn  if  he'll  come  up  here ;  I  want  to 
see  him.  I  guess  you'll  find  him  in  the  office. 
Look  alive,  now  ! " 

"All  right,  General,"  replied  the  servant,  who 
was  a  complacent  negro,  and  seemed  to  entertain  a 
kindly  regard  for  the  stout  gentleman.  "Xothin' 
else,  sah?" 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  "  the  General  answered  testily  ; 
upon  which  the  colored  person  smiled  indulgently, 
and  gently  withdrew. 


30  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

An  interval  of  several  minutes  followed,  during 
which  the  General  marched  up  and  down  the  room 
with  a  preoccupied  and  impatient  air,  like  a  lion 
moodily  pacing  his  cage.  At  last  there  was  a  loud 
and  brisk  knock  on  the  door,  which  opened  at  the 
same  moment,  and  Mr.  Jocelyn  came  in,  with  a 
jaunty  smile,  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

"Halloo,  Signer  Don  General  Impressario  Inigo  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  as  his  gaze  perused  the  wrathful  and 
lugubrious  figure  of  the  owner  of  the  room  ;  'f  who's 
been  crumpling  your  rose-leaves  now?  Do  you 
know,  it's  half-past  ten  o'clock,  and  you  ought  to 
be"  — 

"  I  ought  to  be  !  Oh,  yes  ;  of  course  I  ought  to 
be!  I  shall  be,  too,  before  long  —  with  such  a 
gang  of  thieves  and  scoundrels  as  I've  got  to  deal 
with  !  Now,  look  here  !  " 

"  I'm  looking,"  said  Jocelyn,  seating  himself  in  a 
rocking-chair  and  crossing  one  knee  over  the  other. 
"  Have  a  cigar  ?  Why  don't  you  put  on  your 
vest?  I  declare,  General,  you're  getting  stouter 
every  day.  Why  don't  you  adopt  the  Turkish 
costume?  It  would  suit  your  figure  to  a  dot, 
besides  giving  your  innocent  victims  a  warning  of 
your  character.  When  I  was  in  Stamboul"  — 

"  Now,  just  you  listen  here,"  interrupted  the 
General,  a  slight  Jewish  pronunciation  becoming 
perceptible  in  his  speech.  He  drew  up  a  chair  in 


HER  DESTINY.  31 

front  of  his  guest,  and  sat  down  on  it,  with  his  feet 
drawn  up  underneath,  and  his  fat  hands  on  his 
knees.  "  Just  you  listen  here.  I'm  an  honest 
man,  aint  I?  I  pay  my  way  cash  do  wn,_  don't  I? 
I'm  no  slouch  nor  dead-beat,  am  I  ?  When  I  sign 
a  contract,  and  find  I've  got  left,  I  don't  go  back  on 
it,  do  I?  Oh,  this  is  a  sweet  world  for  honest  folk, 
this  is  !  I've  been  in  this  business  fifteen  years,  by 
Jupiter  !  I've  run  all  the  big  singers  in  this  country 
and  in  Europe  ;  and  hvyou  Americans  have  ever  seen 
an  opera  decently  put  on  the  stage,  you  may  thank 
me  for  it.  Where  would  all  these  blessed  stars  and 
divas,  with  their  three  and  four  thousand  dollars  a 
night,  where  would  they  be  if  Moses  Inigo  hadn't 
shown  'em  up,  and  worked  for  'em,  and  kept  'em 
straight,  and  humored^ 'em,  and  stepped  out  and  told 
lies  for  'em  to  the  public's  face,  by  Jupiter?  And 
here  I  am,  a  poor  man  to-day,  and  they  rolling  in 
riches  !  And  haven't  I  just  gone  and  built  the  finest 
opera-house  in  the  world,  for  a  million  and  a  half  of 
dollars,  out  of  my  own  pocket  and  "  — 

"Yes,  for  a  poor  and  virtuous  man  you've  done 
pretty  well,  General,"  put  in  Jocelyn,  removing  his 
hat  and  yawning.  "But  what's  the  matter?  Has 
the  chorus  struck  for  higher  wages  ?  or  won't  the 
electric  light  work?  or  didn't  that  fellow  at  the  club 
pay  you  the  five  dollars  you  won  of  him  ?  or  haven't 
you  had  your  cocktail  this  morning  ?  or  what  ? " 


32  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

With  an  air  of  terrible  calmness,  General  Inigo 
arose,  took  the  telegram  from  the  table,  and  handed 
it  to  his  friend  without  a  word.  The  latter  received 
it  indolently,  disengaged  from  his  fob-pocket  a  pair 
of  eye-glasses,  placed  them  across  the  handsome 
curve  of  his  nose,  and  began  to  read  the  telegram 
with  a  sigh.  Mean  while  the  General,  with  a  certain 
air  of  tragic  satisfaction,  repaired  to  the  mantel- 
piece and  repeated  his  late  transaction  with  the 
decanter  and  tumbler.  He  then  resumed  his  chair, 
still  in  silence. 

Jocelyn  had  by  this  time  re-read  the  telegram 
more  than  once,  had  said  "Humph!"  in  several 
tones,  and  had  bitten  his  lip  and  pulled  at  his  side- 
whiskers  reflectively.  "Well,"  he  observed  -at 
length,  returning  the  paper  to  the  other,  "  she  has 
played  it  pretty  low  down  on  you,  Inigo,  and  no 
mistake  !  Any  idea  what's  got  into  her  ? " 

The  General  lifted  his  shoulders  and  eyebrows, 
and  spread  out  his  hands.  He  had  temporarily  be- 
come as  voiceless  as  he  was  just  now  voluble.  He 
was  enjoying  the  dignity  of  unutterable  wrongs. 

"  Any  row  about  terms?  "  pursued  Jocelyn. 

The  impressario  smiled  scornfully,  as  one  who 
could  not  deign  to  correct  such  an  insinuation. 

"  Must  be  something,  you  know,"  said  Jocelyn. 
"  A  woman  doesn't  throw  away  twelve  thousand 
dollars  a  week  for  nothing.  Depend  on  it  you've 


HER   DESTINY.  33 

stepped  on  her  toes  somehow.  I'll  tell  you  what  it 
may  be,  —  you  haven't  put  about  any  photographs  of 
her.  Of  course  !  What  are  you  thinking  of?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  are  one  of  those  fellows  that  think 
they  can  fix  everything  in  five  minutes,"  growled 
the  impressario,  breaking  silence  at  last.  "Now, 
just  you  look  at  this."  He  held  up  a  broad,  square- 
topped  forefinger.  "  That  woman  has  never  had  a 
photograph,  nor  any  sort  of  picture,  made  of  her 
in  her  life.  She  won't  allow  it  to  be  done.  That's 
her  fad ;  and,  by  Jupiter,  it's  pretty  smart  of  her, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it ! " 

"  Homely,  is  she?  Has  to  depend  on  her  voice? 
I  see  ! " 

"  You  don't  see  an  inch  before  your  nose  !  She 
may  depend  on  her  voice  when  she's  nothing  else  to 
depend  on.  There's  not  another  voice  like  it  ever 
been  heard  in  America  ;  but  —  homely  !  Well,  I 
saw  her  last  year  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  if  ever  I  set 
my  eyes  on  a  handsomer  woman,  I'll  take  'em  out 
of  my  head  and  give  'em  to  her  !  No,  sir  !  I'm  a 
judge,  if  any  man  is,  and  I  say  that,  for  face,  figure, 
and  movement,  there  aint  her  equal  on  the  stage 
to-day. 

"  Then  why  the  deuce  "  — 

"  Exactly  ?  That's  just  it !  '  Why  the  deuce  ?  ' 
is  the  whole  thing  in  a  nutshell.  Everybody  says  it, 
and  what's  the  result?  Why,  that  everybody's  ten 


34  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

times  as  hot  to  see  her  as  if  they  all  had  her  picture 
tucked  away  in  their  breast-pockets,  or  their  watch- 
cases,  or  on  their  mantel-pieces,  if  they're  bache- 
lors. She  makes  on  it,  every  time.  She  knows 
that  any  woman  can  be  made  to  look  handsome  in  a 
photograph ;  but  she's  the  only  handsome  woman 
before  the  public  whose  photo's  never  been  seen.  I 
tell  you,  sir,  curiosity,  if  it's  managed  well,  will  make 
two  dollars  where  beauty,  or  anything  else,  will 
make  one.  There's  no  advertisement  ever  came  up 
to  it !  And  to  work  up  curiosity  has  been  that 
woman's  pet  scheme  from  the  start.  There's  more 
stories  going  about  her,  and  scandal,  and  fewer 
facts  that  you  can  put  your  finger  on.-  .  .  .  Oh,  she's 
smart ! " 

"She's  overdone  it  this  time,"  Jocelyn  remarked. 
'*  'Unable  to  keep  my  contract,'"  is  what  her  telegram 
says  ;  f  will  pay  forfeit.'  How  much  is  that,  by  the 
by?" 

"  Bah  !  I  would  as  lief  take  ten  cents  !  Am  I  a 
man  to  cry  about  a  little  money?  That  aint  my 
trouble.  But  here  I  am,  with  my  opera-house 
built,  and  my  posters  out  for  three  weeks  back,  and 
advertisements  and  paragraphs  in  every  paper  in  the 
Union,  and  everybody  on  their  beam  ends  to  get  the 
first  sight  of  the  great  Russian  prima-donna  (though 
whether  she's  Russian,  or  Irish,  or  American,  the 
devil  only  knows ;  it's  just  what  she's  a  mind  to 


HER  DESTINY.  35 

call  it) ,  and  my  great  prima-donna  drops  me  a  tele- 
gram that  she  aint  coming,  by  Jupiter !  A  nice 
figure  she  makes  me  cut,  don't  she?  Here  am  I, 
with  a  public  record  of  fifteen  years,  and  never  once 
disappointed  an  audience,  or  kept  them  waiting,  or 
failed  to  give  them  their  money's  worth ;  and  now, 
after  all  my  labor,  and  planning,  and  contriving,  this 
is  the  reward  I  get,  —  to  be  made  a  fool  of!  The 
jewel  reputation,  that's  what  she's  robbed  me  of  ! 
I'd  sooner  she'd  done  me  out  of  a  million.  But  I'll 
be  even  with  her,  as  sure  as  I'm  Inigo,  if  I  have  to 
send  her  an  ounce  of  dynamite  in  a  jewel-case  !  " 
"  She's  never  been  heard  in  this  country,  has  she  ?  " 
"  No ;  nor  in  England  either.  I  don't  suppose 
there's  another  man  besides  me  in  New  York  to-day 
that  has  ever  heard  or  seen  her.  She's  kept  herself 
on  the  Continent,  and  sung  for  royalty,  and  kept 
herself  out  of  people's  way,  as  if  she  were  royalty 
herself, — that's  been  her  game.  And  a  first-class 
game  it  is,  too,  when  a  woman  can  afford  to  play  it, 
as  she  can.  She  never  hollers  for  herself;  she  lets 
the  others  do  it  for  her.  And  that's  why  the  public 
will  pay  higher  to  listen  to  her,  —  if  they  could  only 
get  her, — than  to  any  other  woman  that  sings. 
And  I  travelled  eight  thousand  miles,  and  spent  close 
on  to  two  million  dollars,  just  so  they  might  have 
what  they  wanted  ;  and  this  is  how  I  get  left !  " 
"  Can't  you  get  any  other  "  — 


36  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

w  Any  other?  Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say ;  of  course  !  I 
think  I  can  see  'em  when  I  propose  it !  Why, 
they've  been  that  jealous  of  this  new  woman,  as  they 
call  her,  and  of  me  building  a  theatre  for  her,  and 
cracking  her  up  to  be  the  finest  soprano  and  the 
grandest  singer  in  the  world,  that,  when  they  hear 
she's  sold  me,  they'll  be  ready  to  split  'emselves  for 
joy ;  that's  what  they'll  be !  And  if  they  could 
only  get  me  just  to  ask  one  of  'em  to  take  her  place, 
so  as  to  give  a  chance  to  say,  '  Don't  you  wish  you 
may  get  me  ? '  I  do  believe  they'd  split  outright 
and  be  done  with  it !  " 

"  You're  confoundedly  vulgar  this  morning,  Inigo," 
observed  his  friend,  musingly.  "  They  say  success 
is  more  trying  than  adversity,  but  I  think  the  reverse 
is  true  in  your  case.  Of  course  I  wasn't  thinking 
of  substituting  Patti  or  Scalchi,  or  any  of  that  cali- 
bre. They'd  stand  on  their  dignity,  naturally.  But, 
as  your  great  Russian  is  entirely  unknown  here,  ex- 
cept by  reputation,  I  was  thinking  "  —  He  paused. 

"  Out  with  it,  man,  if  there's  anything  there  !  " 
exclaimed  General  Inigo,  impatiently. 

"  By  George,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  could  be 
done  !  "  muttered  Jocelyn,  half  to  himself.  "  Why 
not  ?  There's  necessity  enough  on  both  sides  !  " 

"  What's  that?  "  demanded  the  General. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  you  to  do,  Inigo," 
said  Jocelyn,  throwing  the  butt  of  his  cigar  into  the 


HER  DESTINY.  37 

fireplace,  and  resuming  his  hat.  "I  want  you  to 
finish  putting  on  your  clothes,  and  get  yourself  into 
a  composed  and  respectable  frame  of  mind,  and  then 
join  me  downstairs,  and  we'll  go  over  to  the  club 
and  have  breakfast.  I've  had  only  a  cup  of  coffee 
this  morning,  thus  far." 

"  Have  breakfast  ?  "  cried  the  General,  indignantly. 
"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  propose  ?  " 

"  No  ;  not  by  a  good  deal.  Unless  I'm  very  much 
mistaken,  I've  got  a  scheme  that'll  set  you  on  your 
legs  again,  upset  all  the  rivals,  and  make  your  great 
Russian  strangle  herself  for  rage.  But  I'm  going  to 
turn  it  over  in  my  mind  first,  and  then  I'll  let  you 
into  it  in  my  own  way.  You  came  to  the  right 
quarter  this  time,  old  fellow.  But  it  isn't  every 
man  in  the  world,  let  me  remind  you,  that's  got  a 
Hamilton  Jocelyn  to  advise  him." 

"All  I  have  to  say,"  returned  Inigo,  as  he  took 
his  place  once  more  in  front  of  the  looking-glass, 
and  selected  another  neck-scarf  from  the  drawer,  "is, 
that  whoever  does  Moses  Inigo  a  good  turn  never 
has  any  reason  to  regret  it.  That's  all  I  have  to  say 
at  present.  AVe'll  go  into  details  when  we've  heard 
what  the  good  turn  looks  like." 

"  You'll  find  me  below  in  the  reading-room,"  said 
Jocelyn,  turning,  with  his  hand  on  the  door.  "You'd 
better  make  your  arrangements  so  that  we  can  leave 
town,  if  necessary,  and  be  away  all  night.  And,  mind 


38  BEATRIX    RANDOLPH. 

you,  don't  open  your  mouth  to  any  human  soul  about 
what  has  happened.  Everything  depends  on  that !  " 

"  I  guess  I  know  how  to  hold  my  tongue,  any- 
how !"  exclaimed  the  impressario,  resentfully;  but 
before  he  could  say  more  the  door  had  closed  and 
he  was  alone.  In  the  course  of  ten  minutes  he 
finished  his  toilet,  and  sallied  forth,  jingling  his  door- 
key  as  he  went. 

"  If  he  pulls  me  out  of  this  scrape,  by  Jupiter  I'll 
make  his  fortune  !  "  he  murmured  to  himself,  as  he 
took  the  elevator  to  the  office  floor. 

When  the  two  gentlemen  were  seated  at  their 
breakfast-table,  in  a  retired  corner  of  the  club  dining- 
room,  and  had  swallowed  their  first  cup  of  coffee, 
Jocelyn  opened  his  mouth  and  spake  as  follows  :  — 

"  How  old  is  your  Russian  phoenix  ?  " 

"  She  looks  twenty  and  may  be  thirty,"  the  Gen- 
eral replied. 

"  What's  her  style?  Stout  or  thin,  tall  or  short, 
dark  or  fair?" 

"That's  about  as  she  likes,  I  expect.  She's  what 
I  call  a  true  child  of  nature  —  changes  with  the 
seasons  !  "  said  the  other,  with  a  wink.  "  One  of 
those  women  with  hazel  eyes  and  oval  face,  and  hair 
all  the  way  from  straw  color  to  black,  that  can  make 
'emselves  look  like  anything.  She's  about  medium 
height.  When  we'd  signed  the  contract,  at  our  last 
interview,"  he  continued,  putting  on  a  diabolical  leer 


HER  DESTINY.    •  39 

of  retrospective  gallantry,  "  I  pressed  a  chaste  salute 
upon  her  brow,  and  didn't  have  to  stoop  for  it.' 

"  Probably  it  was  the  recollection  of  that  embrace 
that  influenced  her  in  throwing  up  her  engagement," 
remarked  Jocelyn,  dryly.  "  You're  a  dangerous 
fellow  with  women,  Inigo,  in  some  senses  !  Better 
make  all  your  salutes  parting  ones,  —  final  partings. 
Well,  to  continue,  does  she  speak  English?" 

"  Just  as  well  as  I  do  myself,"  returned  the  Gen- 
eral, emphatically. 

"Poor  girl !  "  said  Jocelyn,  as  if  to  himself. 

"  What  are  all  these  questions  for,  anyhow  ?  "  de- 
manded Inigo,  after  a  pause. 

"  What  sort  of  an  actress  is  she  ? "  went  on 
Jocelyn,  not  noticing  the  interruption.  "  Realistic, 
or  conventional,  or  what?  " 

"Independent,  I  should  call  her,"  said  the  other. 
"  She  doesn't  seem  to  act  much  any  how,  if  you  know 
what  I  mean.  Free  —  graceful  — spontaneous  !  "  he 
explained,  waving  his  short  arm  about,  with  a  fork- 
ful of  mashed  potato  in  his  hand.  "Worth  your 
money  to  see  her  just  walk  about  the  stage,"  he 
added,  engulfing  the  potato  in  his  enormous  jaws. 

"  She'll  do  ! "  said  Jocelyn,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  succeeded  in  an 
arduous  and  ingenious  enterprise.  "  Your  famous 
Russian  diva,  niy  dear  Signer  Impressario,  lives  not 
more  than  a  hundred  miles  from  where  we  are  sitting  ; 


40  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

and,  if  I  know  anything  about  human  nature,  and 
hers  in  particular,  she  will  make  her  appearance  as 
per  advertisement,  and  sing  herself  and  you  up  to 
your  chiiis  in  bank-notes,  not  to  mention  my  modest 
little  commission  ! " 

"  Bah  !  What  ails  him  now?  "  said  the  General, 
helping  himself  to  another  croquette. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  a  little  story,"  continued  Jocelyn. 
"  About  a  hundred  miles  from  New  York  city  there 
lived,  once  upon  a  time,  a  beautiful  and  talented 
young  lady,  only  daughter  of  a  father  who  had 
brought  her  up  in  luxury,  refinement,  and  seclu- 
sion. This  young  lady  had  an  amazing  genius  for 
music,  and  a  voice  so  ravishing  that  the  larks  came 
down  from  the  clouds  to  listen  to  her,  and  the  night- 
ingales grew  hoarse  with  unavailing  rivalry.  The 
best  instructor  in  the  world  was  procured  to  train 
her,  and,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,  he  turned  her 
out  finished  in  every  respect ;  but,  unfortunately  for 
mankind,  her  affluent  circumstances  forbade  her  ap- 
pearance on  the  public  stage.  At  this  junction, 
however,  a  providential  change  of  circumstances 
altered  the  entire  complexion  of  her  career.  She 
had  a  brother,  a  wild  and  graceless  youth,  who, 
finding  his  native  place  too  narrow  for  the  develop- 
ment of  his  energies,  went  forth  to  investigate  foreign 
lands,  with  an  unlimited  letter  of  credit  on  the  pater- 
nal exchequer.  Now,  this  same  letter  of  credit  is 


HER  DESTINY.  41 

the  specious  —  specie,  I  would  say  —  disguise  of  the 
fairy  who  works  the  tranformation.  The  energetic 
youth  makes  use  of  it  to  such  good  purpose  that,  in 
less  than  a  year  from  the  time  of  his  departure,  he 
has  not  only  exhausted  the  family  income,  but  has 
made  desperate  inroads  into  the  capital,  most  of 
which  has  to  be  sold  out,  and  the  remainder  heavily 
mortgaged,  —  the  old  gentleman  paying  all  demands 
for  the  sake  of  what  he  calls  the  honor  of  the  family, 
though  other  people  might  think  it  was  in  order  to 
prove  what  an  incorrigible  idiot  a  man  of  antiquated 
prejudices  and  aristocratic  lineage  can  make  of  him- 
self when  he  is  afforded  the  opportunity.  The  re- 
sult, at  any  rate,  at  the  time  of  which  we  speak,  is 
that  the  old  gentleman  finds  himself  choked  with 
honor  and  destitute  of  cash  ;  that  he  is  on  the  point 
of  being  obliged  to  sell  the  ancestral  mansion  in 
order  to  satisfy  the  creditors,  and  that,  were  the 
honor  he  has  preserved  at  so  high  a  price  worth 
anything  in  the  market,  he  might  perhaps  be  dis- 
posed to  mortgage  some  of  it  in  consideration  of  an 
assurance  of  bread-and-butter  for  the  rest  of  his 
life." 

"  I've  heard  of  gifted  amateurs  before  now," 
began  Inigo,  shaking  his  big  head  with  a  sigh  ;  but 
Jocelyn  interrupted  him. 

"  What  you've  heard  before  is  nothing  to  the  pur- 
pose," said  he.  "This  is  precisely  the  case  that 


42  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

contradicts  all  experience.  Now,  it  so  happened 
that  a  certain  distinguished  imprcssario  had  spent 
vast  sums  and  made  stupendous  preparations  to  in- 
troduce a  famous  singer  to  the  New  York  public. 
It  so  happened,  too,  that  the  diva  in  question,  al- 
though so  famous,  was  personally  quite  unknown  in 
this  country ;  and,  as  if  for  the  special  purpose  of 
insuring  the  success  of  the  grand  enterprise  that  was 
preparing,  she  had  even  taken  a  whim  to  allow  no 
portraits  of  herself  to  be  exhibited.  For  some 
cause,  at  present  unknown  to  this  historian,  the 
diva,  at  the  last  moment,  backed  out  of  her  contract. 
The  distinguished  impressario,  with  disgrace  and  ruin 
staring  him  in  the  face,  luckily  bethought  himself 
to  consult  the  wisest  man  of  his  acquaintance,  who, 
by  virtue  of  his  presence  of  mind  and  penetration, 
promptly  saw  the  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  He 
took  the  impressario  with  him  to  the  ancestral  man- 
sion aforesaid,  where  the  young  lady  sang  to  them, 
and  was  instantly  made  the  recipient  of  the  following 
offer  by  the  impressario  :  that  she  was  to  assume,  and 
inviolably  maintain,  the  name  and  personality  of  the 
Russian  diva ;  that  under  this  name  and  character 
she  was  to  come  to  New  York,  take  up  her  abode 
at  the  most  fashionable  hotel,  and  receive  whatever 
company  will  venture  to  form  the  acquaintance  of 
a  lady  with  a  history  so  formidably  and  fascinatingly 
scandalous  as  hers.  In  consideration  "  — 


TIER  DESTINY.  43 

"Hold  on!  hold  on!"  said  Inigo,  with  a  shake 
of  his  hand  in  the  air ;  "  I  see  what  you're  driving 
at.  I  didn't  take  it  in  at  first,  that  your  amateur 
was  to  appear  as  the  diva  herself,  as  well  as  to  be 
her  substitute.  It's  a  smart  notion;  but  I  expect 
it'll  do  better  to  talk  about  than  to  try.  She'd  slip 
up  somehow.  She  might  carry  it  out  for  a  day  or 
two;  but.when  you  come  to  two  or  three  months, 
that's  another  story  !  It  would  take  a  better  actress 
than  I've  ever  come  across  to  "  — 

"  She  won't  have  to  act  at  all,"  Jocelyn  interposed. 
"  The  public,  of  course,  will  have  made  up  its  mind 
beforehand  that  she  is  the  real  original  diva,  and  the 
more  unsophisticated  she  appears  the  more  convinced 
and  charmed  they'll  be.  They'll  take  her  innocence 
to  be  the  diva's  consummate  hypocrisy,  man  alive  ! 
and  any  unfamiliarity  she  may  show  on  the  stage,  to 
be  the  perfection  of  acting.  But,  for  that  matter, 
when  once  they've  heard  her  sing,  they  wouldn't  ex- 
change her  for  all  the  divas  in  Christendom  !  " 

"If  she  can  sing  —  yes!"  said  the  impressario, 
rather  sceptically. 

"Did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  of  a  gentleman  by 
the  name  of  Dorimar?"  inquired  Jocelyn,  putting 
down  his  wristbands,  and  folding  his  handsome 
hands  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"  Old  Dorimar  ?     Rather  !     Best  man  in  the  pro- 


44  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

fession.  Dead  now,  poor  old  boy !  Ah,  if  he'd 
only  kept  his  voice  "  — 

"Dorimar  was  the  instructor  I  mentioned  just 
now.  He  went  up  one  day  just  to  hear  her  try  her 
voice,  and  the  consequence  was  he  stayed  three 
years  to  listen  to  it.  He  told  me  a  month  before 
he  died  she  was  the  finest  soprano,  with  the  grand- 
est method,  he'd  ever  known." 

"The  devil  he  did  !  Dorimar  was  no  fool,  that's 
a  fact." 

"  I  found  her  out  before  he  did.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  me,  where  would  you  be  now,  friend  Moses?" 

"  That's  all  right ;  but  I've  got  to  hear  her  first." 

"That's  why  I  told  you  to  make  your  arrange- 
ments to  be  out  of  town  to-night.  We'll  take  the 
noon  train  up  there.  I've  telegraphed  'em  to  expect 
me.  We'll  settle  with  her  to-night,  and  be  back  in 
town  to-morrow  morning.  Now,  as  to  terms.  You'll 
have  to  pay  her  what  you'd  promised  the  diva." 

"Oh,  I  will,  will  I?  I'll  see  about  that!"  re- 
turned the  impressario,  with  a  shrewd  grimace. 
"  No  need  of  me  believing  she's  the  real  diva  as  well 
as  the  audience  !  " 

"In  that  case  we  won't  take  the  noon  train,"  said 
Jocelyn,  firmly. 

"  Say,  my  boy,  what's  your  game  ?  "  inquired  the 
other,  after  a  pause,  during  which  the  men  had 
looked  intently  at  each  other.  "Do  you  want  me 


HER   DESTINY.  45 

to  pay  you  her  salary,  and  you  hand  her  over  what- 
ever doesn't  stick  to  your  fingers,  —  is  that  it  ?  He  ! 
he  !  he  !  " 

"You're  a  coarse-minded  idiot,"  said  Jocelyn, 
bruskly.  "You  attend  to  your  business,  and 
let  me  manage  mine.  I  know  what  I  want,  and 
how  to  get  it.  If  she's  not  all  I  say  she  is,  of 
course  the  bargain's  off  altogether.  If  she  is,  you'll 
have  to  pay  for  her,  — that's  all.  And  if  you  don't 
like  those  terms,  you  can  get  out  of  your  scrape 
yourself,  —  if  you  can  !  " 

"You  ought  to  be  a  rich  man,  my  boy,  one  of 
these  fine  days,"  remarked  the  impressario,  medita- 
tively. "  Well,  if  she  comes  up  to  your  report,  I'll 
agree.  But  if  she  doesn't "  — 

"  If  she  doesn't,  I'll  stand  the  railway  fare  there 
and  back  !  "  said  Jocelyn ;  and  with  that  they  laughed, 
and  rose  from  the  table.  As  they  were  passing  out 
of  the  room,  a  tall  young  man,  with  a  thick  brown 
beard  and  severe  blue  eyes,  met  them  in  the  door- 
way. He  had  a  roll  of  paper  in  his  hand. 

"You're  the  man  I'm  looking  for,"  he  said  to 
Inigo. 

"Halloo,  Bellingham ! "  said  Jocelyn.  "How 
comes  on  the  Temple  of  the^ Muses?" 

"  All  right,"  replied  the  gentleman  so  addressed, 
rather  curtly,  as  his  manner  was.  He  looked  at 
Inigo  and  added,  "  There's  a  point  about  the  con- 


46  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

struction  of  the  stage  entrance  I  must  consult  you 
on." 

"I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  hurry,"  objected  the  im- 
pressario,  reluctantly. 

"I  want  only  ten  minutes,"  Bellingham  said. 

"You  architects  are  worse  than  .  .  .Oh,  by 
the  way,  I  can't  decide  about  it  till  to-morrow,  any- 
how," exclaimed  the  other,  as  Bellingham  began  to 
unroll  his  paper.  He  glanced  at  Jocelyn,  and  went 
on,  "  Come  to  the  office  to-morrow  afternoon  and 
we'll  fix  it." 

"  The  workmen  will  have  to  wait,"  said  Belling- 
ham. 

"Everybody  has  to  do  that,"  returned  the  im- 
pressario,  sententiously ;  and,  with  a  nod,  he  and 
Jocelyn  went  out. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HOW    SHE   WAS    WORRIED    AND    PERSECUTED. 

~TN  autumn  the  old  Randolph  homestead  looked 
as  if  it  were  showered  with  gold.  The  great 
elm-trees,  transmuted  by  the  touch  of  this  Midas  of 
the  seasons,  stood  in  a  yellow  glory  of  myriad  leaves, 
which  every  breath  of  the  cool  west  breeze  scattered 
profusely  earthward,  where,  with  the  still  unchanged 
grass,  they  formed  a  spangled  carpet  of  green  and 
gold.  The  apples  thronged  the  crooked  boughs  of 
the  orchard,  some  like  glowing  rubies,  others  like 
the  famous  fruit  of  the  Hesperides,  though  there  was 
no  guardian  dragon  to  give  them  a  fictitious  value. 
The  broad  roof  of  the  house  itself  was  littered  with 
innumerable  little  golden  scales,  of  workmanship 
far  beyond  the  skill  of  any  human  goldsmith,  yet  of 
absolutely  no  market  value.  What  is  the  signifi- 
cance of  this  yearly  phantasmagory  of  illimitable 
riches,  worthless  because  illimitable?  Is  it  a  satire 
or  a  consolation  ?  Does  it  mock  the  poor  man's  in- 
digence, or  cause  him  to  hope  again  for  competence? 
It  comes  as  the  guerdon  of  Nature,  after  her  mighty 
task  is  done  ;  but  when  she  has  composed  herself  to 


48  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

her  wintry  sleep  it  is  trodden  into  the  earth  and  for- 
gotten ;  and  the  new  year  begins  his  labors  with 
new  sap  and  naked  buds.  It  is  only  the  human 
world  that  has  to  bear  the  burden  of  inheritance ; 
and  perhaps  we  shall  never  enjoy  true  wealth  till  we 
have  learned  the  lesson  of  the  trees. 

Poor  Mr.  Randolph  certainly  had  little  else  beside 
autumn  leaves  wherewith  to  satisfy  his  creditors, 
and  the  \vinter  of  his  discontent  was  close  upon  him. 
There  is  a  philosophy  for  the  poor,  and  a  philosophy 
for  the  wealthy  ;  but  the  philosophy  that  can  console 
the  debtor  has  yet  to  be  discovered.  Debt  does  not 
allow  its  victim  to  be  either  dignified  or  resigned. 
It  afflicts  him,  as  Job  was  afflicted  with  sore  boils, 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  soles  of  his  feet, 
so  that  he  can  neither  stand  nor  sit  nor  move  with 
comfort.  He  can  find  no  peace,  at  home  or  abroad  ; 
he  is  sought  by  those  who  love  him  not,  and  no 
barriers  that  he  can  erect  will  keep  them  away. 
His  social  position  and  his  moral  respectability  no 
longer  gain  him  reverence  ;  he  is  compelled  to  meet 
the  meanest  of  his  fellow-creatures  on  a  basis  of 
plain  human  equality,  —  save  that  he  is  defenceless, 
while  they  are  armed  to  the  teeth  with  writs,  war- 
rants, injunctions,  deeds  of  bankruptcy,  and  all  the 
dismal  arsenal  of  the  law.  All  his  assertions  are 
doubted,  and  all  his  motives  misjudged.  He  finds 
himself  driven  by  inevitable  pressure  into  an  attitude 


WORRIED   AND    PERSECUTED.  49 

of  hostility  and  hatred  toward  his  kind  ;  he  discovers 
the  injustice  of  justice,  and  the  wrong  of  right. 
Gradually  his  moral  sense  becomes  impaired ;  feel- 
ing that  the  whole  great,  heartless  world  is  against 
him,  with  all  the  odds  of  numbers,  means,  and  tra- 
dition, he  begins  to  consider  himself  warranted  in 
resorting  to  any  measures  of  self-protection.  He 
will  rejoice  in  his  enemy's  discomfiture,  and  slay  him, 
if  he  can,  in  the  dark.  His  analysis  of  his  fellow- 
man  reveals  nothing  but  selfishness,  under  whatever 
disguise  of  virtue  hidden  ;  and,  finally,  like  Macbeth, 
he  throws  aside  all  compunction  and  half-measures, 
and  direness,  familiar  to  his  thoughts,  cannot  once 
move  him. 

The  higher  his  previous  position,  the  more  in- 
tolerable his  present  predicament ;  and  this  was  the 
case  with  Mr.  Randolph.  Born  and  brought  up  in 
the  custom  of  sufficient  resources,  he  had  never 
contemplated  the  possibility  of  want.  There  had 
seemed  to  be  something  noble  and  high-minded  in 
meeting  without  question  all  demands  upon  him ; 
but,  when  the  supply  actually  ran  short,  things  wore 
a  different  aspect.  He  had  never  believed  that  a 
gentleman  like  himself  of  excellent  family  and  unim- 
peachable repute,  could  ever  come  to  positive  help-» 
lessness.  Such  a  catastrophe  might  happen  to 
others,  but  never  to  Alexander  Randolph.  At  the 
last  moment,  if  not  much  sooner,  society  would 


50  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

come  forward  with  an  indignant  protest,  and  in  some 
way  deliver  him  from  all  embarrassments.  Society, 
however,  failed  to  avail  itself  of  so  shining  an  op- 
portunity to  express  its  sense  of  Mr.  Randolph's 
merit.  There  is  one  moment  in  a  man's  life  in 
which  society  takes  no  interest,  and  that  is  the 
moment  when  his  head  is  just  going  under  water. 
There  is  something  vulgar  in  the  spectacle,  and 
society  turns  its  attention  elsewhere. 

If  Mr.  Randolph  had  spent  his  whole  fortune 
simply  in  paying  his  son's  drafts,  he  would  at  least 
have  had  the  comfort  of  putting  the  whole  burden  of 
the  responsibility  on  his  son's  shoulders.  But,  un- 
fortunately, the  larger  part  of  the  loss  was  due  to 
private  rashness  of  his  own.  When  he  found  that 
Ed's  rapacity  was  getting  serious,  he  bethought  him 
that  his  property  was  invested  in  things  which,  al- 
though perfectly  safe,  brought  a  very  low  interest. 
Now,  stocks  were  to  be  had  which  would  double 
or  treble  his  income,  although,  to  be  sure,  their 
soundness  was  less  assured  than  that  of  United  States 
bonds.  This  defect,  however,  might  be  remedied  by 
sound  judgment  and  presence  of  mind.  None  of  Mr. 
Randolph's  friends,  probably,  would  have  specified 
these  qualities  as  being  conspicuous  in  him,  save  by 
their  absence  ;  but  Mr.  Randolph  himself  was  of  an 
opposite  opinion.  The  devoted  gentleman  betook 
himself  to  Wall  street,  and  speculated  there.  The 


WORRIED   AND    PERSECUTED.  51 

brokers  treated  him  as  Richard  III.  proposed  to  treat 
his  wife,  — they  had  him,  but  they  did  not  keep  him 
long.  His  speculations  after  he  returned  home  were 
probably  more  edifying  than  those  he  indulged  in  on 
the  street.  Be  that  as  it  may,  his  proceedings  ma- 
terially hastened  the  conclusion  which  Ed's  extrava- 
gances had  first  brought  into  view.  He  was  ruined, 
and  he  began  to  realize  it.  Two  or  three  weeks' 
experience  of  it  (such  was  his  quickness  of  appre- 
hension) more  than  satisfied  him.  He  perceived 
that,  for  the  sake  of  an  empty  sound,  an  artificial 
pride,  he  had  sacrificed  all  the  solid  comforts  of  life. 
Nor  was  the  "  honor  "  for  which  he  had  made  this 
sacrifice  any  the  more  honored  by  the  transaction. 
Nobody  knew  or  cared  anything  about  it ;  it  was  like 
a  Confederate  bank  note,  — worth  attention  only  for 
the  sake  of  the  comical  contrast  between  its  assump- 
tion and  its  value.  To  believe  in  one's  self  is  a 
comfortable  feat,  but  difficult  to  perform  in  defiance 
of  an  incredulous  and  indifferent  world.  The  revolt- 
ing suspicion  that  he  had  been  a  fool  began  to  ger- 
minate in  Mr.  Randolph's  mind.  This  suspicion, 
which  is  the  salvation  of  some  men,  is  the  destruction 
of  other*.  The  integrity  of  Mr.  Randolph's  moral 
discrimination  began  to  deteriorate  from  that  hour. 
Having  enacted,  all  his  life,  the  part  of  his  own 
golden  calf  in  the  wilderness,  his  overthrow  left  him 
destitute  of  any  criterion  of  conduct.  He  talked 


52  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

violently  and  volubly  about  his  wrongs,  and  discussed 
various  schemes,  more  or  less  impracticable  and  im- 
proper, of  evading  his  liabilities.  Beatrix  was,  nat- 
urally, the  chief  sufferer  from  this  ungainly  develop- 
ment of  her  father's  character,  and  she  was  also 
obliged  to  bear  the  brunt  of  most  of  the  concrete 
unpleasantness  of  their  situation.  She  had  to  talk 
to  the  creditors,  to  extenuate  her  father's  side  of  the 
case,  to  hold  out  fair  hopes,  and  to  smooth  over 
disappointments ;  and  when  she  had  wearied  herself 
in  parleying  with  the  enemy,  she  had  before  her  the 
yet  harder  task  of  pacifying  and  encouraging  her 
father,  who  had  listened  to  the  dialogue  from  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  and  fell  upon  her  with  a  petty 
avalanche  of  complaints,  questions,  suggestions, 
scoldings  and  querulousness.  Beatrix  loved  her 
father  with  all  her  heart ;  but  she  was  of  a  penetrat- 
ing and  well-balanced  mind,  and  often  had  difficulty 
in  not  feeling  ashamed  of  him.  Insensibly  she  began 
to  treat  him  as  a  fractious  and  supersensitive  child, 
who  must  at  all  costs  be  humored  and  soothed ;  and 
when  she  felt  her  own  strength  and  patience  almost 
overtaxed  she  would  only  say  to  herself,  "  No  won- 
der poor  father  has  to  give  up,  when  I  find  it  so 
hard." 

But,  if  her  encounters  with  the  enemy  were  trying, 
those  whose  motive  was  benevolence  were  even 
harder  to  get  on  with.  Among  the  latter  were 


WORRIED   AND    PERSECUTED.  53 

the  daughters  of  the  innkeeper.  Beatrix  had  never 
affected  the  society  of  these  young  ladies,  who  had 
been  brought  up  in  a  public  school,  and*vho  frater- 
nized in  the  most  engaging  manner  with  all  the 
young  men  of  the  village,  their  father's  trade  giving 
them  special  opportunities  to  cultivate  a  wide  circle 
of  acquaintances.  Their  tone  of  conversation  alter- 
nated between  the  confidential  whisper  and  the  full- 
lunged  repartee  ;  and  their  mirth  was  expressed,  now 
by  the  rippling  giggle  of  intimacy,  and  now  by  the 
strident  crow  of  incipient  familiarity.  As  to  what 
they  talked  about,  it  may  be  surmised  that,  had  all 
idea  of  the  sterner  sex  been  eliminated  from  their 
minds,  they  would  have  been  practically  dumb. 
Altogether,  Beatrix,  during  the  period  of  her  pros- 
perity, had  assumed  in  the  eyes  of  these  young  la- 
dies an  attitude  of  proud  exclusiveness  ;  though  from 
her  own  point  of  view  she  was  probably  in  the  posi- 
tion of  feeling  rather  panic-stricken  at  the  sight  of 
them.  At  any  rate,  after  the  aspect  of  things  had 
been  altered  by  Mr.  Randolph's  calamity,  the  inn- 
keeper's daughters,  in  order  to  show  that  they  were 
above  bearing  malice,  made  a  point  of  calling  upon 
that  unfortunate  gentleman  and  Beatrix,  and  mani- 
festing an  appalling  amount  of  cordiality  and  exuber- 
ant helpfulness.  "Don't  you  get  down  in  the 
mouth,  Mr.  Randolph,"  exclaimed  Miss  Sarah,  with 
an  intonation  as  if  she  were  patting  him  on  the  back. 


54  BEATRIX    RANDOLPH. 

"  Why,  father  was  most  as  down  as  you,  five  years 
ago,  when  Schneider  &  Co.  failed,  and  never  sent 
him  all  tha*  liquor  he'd  paid  'em  for  !  Father  says 
he'd  just  as  soon  take  you  and  Beatrix  to  board  this 
winter,  when  there  aint  much  outside  business  going 
on,  and  not  charge  you  a  cent ;  he  said  he  guessed 
you  wouldn't  eat  much  anyway ;  those  in  trouble 
seldom  do."  "  You'll  find  it  real  lively,  too,"  added 
Miss  Gertrude,  turning  to  Beatrix ;  "  a  lot  better 
than  sitting  moping  up  here  from  one  week's  end  to 
the  other,  strumming  on  that  old  piano  of  yours. 
We  have  hops  three  times  a  week,  and  no  end  of 
beaux."  "  A  pretty  girl  like  you,"  went  on  Miss 
Sarah,  generously,  "  will  be  sure  to  catch  a  husband 
before  long.  There's  Mr.  Starcher  for  one :  he  as 
good  as  told  me  he  was  sweet  on  you,  not  a  week 
ago  ;  and  I  guess  it  would  be  a  relief  to  your  father 
to  marry  you  off  his  hands,  now  that  his  pockets  are 
empty."  "All  I  have  to  say  about  Starcher  is,  if  he 
don't  mind,  the  minister  '11  cut  him  out !  "  remarked 
Miss  Gertrude ;  whereat  both  the  young  ladies 
laughed  joyously,  and  manifestly  believed  that  they 
were  making  themselves  exceedingly  agreeable.  But 
civilization  makes  one  man's  meat  another  man's 
poison. 

Mr.  Starcher  was  the  grocer's  son ;  and  the  grocer 
divided  with  the  innkeeper  the  highest  social  con- 
sideration of  the  village.  His  son  was  a  young 


WORRIED   AND    PERSECUTED.  55 

gentleman  of  highly  respectable  character  and  educa- 
tion. After  leaving  school  he  had  studied  for  a 
year  at  a  business  college  in  New  York ;  he  was  a 
member  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association, 
and  a  person  of  gravity  and  religious  convictions. 
A  week  or  two  after  Mr.  Randolph's  misfortune  be- 
came known,  he  put  on  a  suit  of  black  clothes, 
relieved  by  a  faded  blue  necktie,  and  called  formally 
on  Miss  Randolph.  After  the  first  courtesies  had 
been  exchanged,  he  eaid  that  he  desired,  in  the  first 
place,  to  put  the  minds  of  Miss  Randolph  and  her 
good  father  at  ease  regarding  the  little  account  be- 
tween his  firm  and  them.  The  money  was  not 
needed,  and,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  might  re- 
main unpaid  indefinitely.  "And  I  should  like  to  say, 
too,"  he  continued,  with  a  manner  of  almost  melan- 
choly seriousness  and  a  husky  voice,  "  that  groceries 

—  or  anything   else  I   could   get   you  —  might   be 
yours,  permanently,  if  I  could  —  you  would  —  that 
you  might  consent  to  unite  your  life  to  mine.     My 
father  contemplates  retiring  from  active  business.     I 
have  never  before  spoken  to  you  of  this  ;  but  in  sea- 
sons of  trouble  —  we  say  things  —  and  I  have  often 
thought,  when  we  were  singing  in  the  choir  together 

—  that  —  we  might  be  very  happy  —  that  it  was  our 
destiny.     I  have  been  in  New  York  and  seen  the 
great  world,  but  you  are  the  wife  I  would   choose 
from  among  them  all."     He  had  a  smooth,  round, 


56  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

fresh-colored,  innocent  face,  that  seemed  made  for 
dimpling  smiles,  but  which  never  indulged  in  them. 
Beatrix  felt  a  sensation  of  absurd  alarm,  like  the 
princess  in  the  fairy  tale,  under  a  spell  of  enchant- 
ment to  mismate  herself  in  the  most  grotesque  man- 
ner conceivable.  Mr.  Starcher  was  so  much  in 
earnest,  and  so  ludicrously  sure,  apparently,  that 
the  success  of  his  suit  was  among  the  eternal  certain- 
tics,  that  a  vision  of  a  long-wedded  life  with  him,  amid 
an  atmosphere  of  meal-tubs,  salt-cod,  and  pickles, 
interspersed  with  psalm  tunes  and  solemn  walks 
to  and  from  church  on  Sundays ;  this  desperate  pan- 
orama of  inanimate  existence  rose  up  before  her  in 
such  vivid  imaginative  vraisemblance  that  she  was 
impelled  to  protest  against  it  with  more  than  ade- 
quate vehemence.  She  gasped  for  breath,  rose  from 
her  chair,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Starcher,  it  is  terrible  !  I 
would  rather  die  !  "  Then,  perceiving,  compassion- 
ately, that  he  would  feel  cruelly  wounded  as  soon  as 
his  astonished  senses  enabled  him  to  comprehend  the 
significance  of  her  words,  she  added,  f'It  would  be 
wicked  for  me  ever  to  think  of  being  married  ;  you 
must  see  that  I" —  Here  she  paused,  partly  from 
emotion,  and  partly  because  she  was  unable,  at  the 
moment,  to  bethink  herself  of  any  conclusive  argu- 
ment in  support  of  her  assertion  that,  for  her,  mar- 
riage would  ever  be  a  crime.  One  certainly  would 
not  have  drawn  that  inference  from  the  superficial 


WORRIED    AND    PERSECUTED.  57 

indications.  A  silence  ensued,  prickly  with  spiritual 
discomfort.  Mr.  Starcher  was  the  first  to  find  his 
tongue,  and  he  carried  off  the  honors  of  the  encoun- 
ter by  observing,  with  tearful  gentleness,  that  he 
should  claim  the  privilege,  just  the  same,  of  not 
presenting  the  little  account  for  settlement.  This 
magnanimity  was  none  the  less  genuine  because  the 
materials  for  it  were  slender,  and  Beatrix,  long 
afterward,  found  comfort  in  recalling  it  to  mind. 

But  there  was  yet  another  adversary  for  her  to 
engage,  and  he  was  in  some  respects  more  formidable 
than  Mr.  Starcher,  because  his  position  and  educa- 
tion rendered  his  pretensions  less  monstrous ;  nay, 
there  even  seemed  to  be  a  sneaking  disposition  on 
Mr.  Randolph's  part  to  accord  him  at  least  a  nega- 
tive support.  Mr.  Vinal,  the  Unitarian  clergyman, 
was,  in  fact,  from  an  unworldly  point  of  view,  a  tol- 
erably inoflbnsive  match.  He  was  studious,  deco- 
rous, and  endowed  with  grave  and  unobtrusive  man- 
ners. He  was  not  handsome,  but  there  was  a  certain 
masculine  concentration  in  his  close-set  gray  eyes  and 
long  narrow  chin  which  was  not  in  itself  unpleasing. 
His  voice,  if  somewhat  harsh,  was  resonant  and 
assured ;  and,  coming  as  it  did  from  a  chest  appar- 
ently so  incapacious,  produced  a  sensation  of  agreeable 
surprise.  It  would  have  been  unreasonable  not  to 
respect  the  man,  and  churlish  not  to  feel  amiably 
disposed  toward  him  ;  but,  for  Beatrix,  it  was  impossi- 


58  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

ble  to  love  him.  He  lived  in  a  little  whife  wooden 
house  with  green  blinds,  close  to  the  white,  green- 
blinded  church ;  he  possessed  an  imposing  library, 
in  which  was  not  a  single  book  that  Beatrix  could 
have  brought  herself  to  read,  and  the  main  object  of 
his  endeavors  was,  apparently,  to  make  all  the  rest 
of  the  world  think  and  live  like  himself.  Moreover, 
though  he  approved  of  music,  he  neither  knew  nor 
cared  anything  about  it. 

Mr.  Vinal  began  his  operations  by  a  private  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Randolph,  from  which  he  came  forth 
with  a  countenance  whose  serenity  made  Beatrix's 
heart  sink.  The  dialogue  which  followed  was  of 
extreme  interest  to  both  of  them. 

"  Have  you  made  any  plans  regarding  your  imme- 
diate future?"  the  minister  began,  in  an  unembar- 
rassed and  business-like  tone.  "  We  cannot  doubt, 
you  know,  that  Providence,  in  bringing  this  affliction 
upon  you,  has  had  some  wise  and  merciful  end  in 
view.  You  have  talents  ;  perhaps  but  for  this  you 
might  have  kept  them  folded  in  the  napkin.  Adver- 
sity forces  us  out  of  our  natural  idleness,  and  stimu- 
lates us  to  use  what  means  we  have  to  win  our  own 
way  in  the  world.  Have  you  thought  of  anything 
to  do  ?  " 

Beatrix's  spirits  rose  again ;  he  was  not  thinking 
of  marrying  her,  after  all.  "  I've  been  thinking  I 
might  give  lessons  on  the  piano,"  she  said.  She 


WORRIED    AND    PERSECUTED.  59 

happened  to  be  seated  at  that  instrument,  and  as  she 
spoke  she  let  her  white  fingers  drift  down  the  key- 
board, from  bass  to  treble,  from  depression  to  hope, 
from  gloom  to  light,  winding  up  with  a  sort  of  inter- 
rogative accent,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Why  shouldn't 
I  be  good  for  something  ?  " 

"  Very  right,"  said  Mr.  Vinal ;  "  I  have  nothing 
to  object  to  in  that ;  indeed,  I  had  intended  to  pro- 
pose it.  You  could,  also,  unless  the  instructions 
of  the  late  Professor  Dorimar  were  wholly  value- 
less "  — 

"What?"  interrupted  Beatrix,  in  a  voice  which, 
supported  as  it  was  by  a  chord  sharply  struck,  made 
the  minister  start  in  his  chair.  After  a  moment's 
pause,  she  said,  her  eyes  still  bright  with  indigna- 
tion, "  Professor  Dorimar,  who  is  now  in  heaven, 
taught  me  more  and  better  things  than  you  have  ever 
dreamed  of !  He  showed  me  that  I  have  a  soul !  " 

"  Surely  I  have  done  as  much  as  that !  "  faltered 
Mr.  Vinal,  who  was  confused  by  this  sudden  out- 
burst. 

"  Xo  !  for  you  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Bea- 
trix, loftily.  "  You  have  only  been  told  that  it  is  so, 
—  you  have  read  it  in  books,  — and  you  repeat  what 
you  have  been  told,  and  no  doubt  you  think  you 
believe  it.  But  you  can  never  know  it !  "  continued 
the  young  lady,  with  a  fiery  emphasis  on  the  verb, 
"because  you  can't  understand  music." 


60  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

"I  intended  nothing  against  Professor  Dorimar," 
protested  the  minister,  who  was  amazed  and  daunted 
by  the  passion  and  pride  that  he  had  unawares 
caused  to  kindle  in  her  lovely  face.  It  was,  perhaps, 
the  first  time  he  had  occasion  to  observe  that  the 
spirit  of  the  old  Virginia  Randolphs  —  the  descend- 
ants of  the  cavaliers  —  was  as  haughty  and  untamed 
in  this  tender-hearted  American  girl,  as  in  that  terri- 
ble ancestor  of  hers  who  rode  with  Prince  Rupert. 

Beatrix  made  no  reply,  but  sat  with  her  head 
erect,  and  flushed  cheeks,  and  one  hand  still  on  the 
piano  keys,  as  if  ready  once  more  to  smite  terror 
.into  the  soul  of  her  visitor  should  he  again  step 
amiss.  A  piano,  it  seems,  can  be  used  as  a  weapon 
of  defence  even  against  one  who  has  no  comprehen- 
sion of  music. 

"  What  I  was  about  to  remark  was,  that  you 
might  teach  singing  as  well  as  playing,"  said  Mr. 
Vinal,  circumspectly.  "  There  are,  I  believe,  a 
number  of  persons  in  the  village  who  would  be  will- 
ing, under  the  circumstances,  to  place  their  children 
under  your  instruction." 

"  It  is  no  favor  to  be  taught  music  under  any  cir- 
cumstances," returned  Beatrix,  kindling  again. 
"  Whoever  thinks  otherwise  does  not  deserve  to 
learn  !  And  there  are  other  places  in  the  world 
besides  this  miserable  little  village,  and  people  who 
are  wiser  and  better  !  " 


WORRIED    AND    PERSECUTED.  61 

"  You  surely  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  you 
contemplate  going  anywhere  else?"  demanded  the 
minister,  in  some  consternation. 

The  fact  was  that  such  an  idea  had  never,  until 
that  moment,  definitely  presented  itself  to  Miss 
Randolph's  mind ;  but,  in  her  present  aroused  con- 
dition, she  could  see  and  entertain  many  possi- 
bilities that  would  have  seemed  audacious  or 
impracticable  an  hour  before. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  I  was  not  born  to  pass 
my  life  here  !  " 

"  But  I  —  it  has  never  been  my  intention  to  leave 
here  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Vinal,  anxiously. 

"  What  satisfies  you  does  not  satisfy  me,"  answered 
the  young  lady. 

"  But  your  father  —  in  a  conversation  I  have  just 
had  with  him  —  has  informed  me  that  he  will  not 
oppose  my  addressing  you  with  a  view  to  marriage," 
said  the  clergyman,  in  a  solemn  tone. 

"  He  would  not  have  done  so  if  he  had  been  him- 
self," replied  Beatrix,  warmly.  "He  is  broken 
down  by  trouble  and  sorrow,  else  you  would  not 
have  ventured  to  ask  him!  But  I  will  tell  you, 
since  he  could  not,  that  I  am  not  a  piece  of  land, 
or  furniture,  to  be  sold  for  the  satisfaction  of  cred- 
itors !  I  will  not  be  a  burden  upon  my  father  or 
any  one  ;  but  I  have  a  right  to  myself  —  to  my  own 
self !  Do  you  think  I  am  so  much  afraid  of  being 


62  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH, 

poor,  or  of  starving,  that  I  would  marry  anybody 
to  escape  it  ?  I  do  not  love  you !  I  do  not  love 
you,  Mr.  Vinal,  and  so  I  will  never  marry  you.  I 
will  have  love,  and  music,  or  nothing !  You  do 
not  know  me,  sir,  none  of  you  here  seem  to  know 
me.  I  am  an  American  girl,  and  I  will  not  be 
bargained  away,  or  buried  alive,  by  any  one  !  You 
shaft  see,"  she  added,  rising  and  walking  to  the 
veranda  window,  "that  I  can  make  my  own  way, 
and  take  care  of  myself !  You  shall  see  that  Pro- 
fessor Dorimar  taught  me  something  worth  know- 
ing!" 

Mr.  Vinal  was  unable  to  stand  up  against  a 
succession  of  blows  like  this,  delivered  by  one 
whom  he  had  heretofore  supposed  to  be  the  type 
of  gentleness  and  docility.  His  mind  was  narrow, 
and  slow  to  adapt  itself  to  new  impressions ;  and 
it  would  have  taken  him  a  long  time  to  frame  a 
suitable  reply  to  Miss  Randolph's  unexpected  at- 
tack. But  the  opportunity  was  not  allowed  him. 

For,  as  Beatrix  stood  by  the  window,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  glowing  eyes,  and  her  heart  beating 
harder  than  usual,  with  indignant  emotion,  her 
glance  fell  upon  two  figures  advancing  arm-in-arm 
up  the  avenue.  One  of  them  she  recognized ;  the 
other  was  unknown.  But  a  strange  tingle  of  antici- 
pation went  through  her  nerves.  Something  was 
going  to  happen  —  something  great  —  something  for 


WORRIED   AND    PERSECUTED.  63 

her  !  The  crisis  of  her  fate  was  at  hand ;  and  she 
was  more  than  ready  for  it.  Therefore  she  did  not 
start,  or  cry  out,  but  only  smiled  with  an  air  of 
beautiful  triumph,  when  Hamilton  Jocelyn,  relin- 
quishing the  arm  of  his  companion,  ran  up  the  steps 
of  the  veranda,  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  said, 
as  he  bent  toward  her. 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  bring  you  fame  and  fortune  !  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IX   WHAT    GUISE    DELIVERANCE     CAME    TO   HER. 

\Y7~HAT  became  of  Mr.  Vinal,  Beatrix  never  as- 
certained ;  she  forgot  about  him  for  several 
minutes,  and,  when  she  looked  round  for  him,  he 
was  gone.  But  her  life,  which  for  the  past  month 
or  two  had  seemed  to  be  dwindling  away  to  a  dreary 
little  rivulet,  had  now  all  at  once  begun  to  leap 
onward  in  a  full,  rejoicing  torrent.  The  change 
had,  indeed,  found  its  source  in  her  revolt  against 
the  clammy  assumptions  of  the  clergyman :  it  was 
the  fervent  reaction  of  her  nature  against  the  chilly 
lethargy  and  oppression!  that  had  been  settling  upon 
it ;  and  Jocelyn's  unexplained  announcement  had 
only  given  form  and  confidence  to  the  instinctive 
conviction  that  a  new  dispensation  must  be  on  its 
way  to  her.  For  the  time  she  was  satisfied  to  rest 
upon  the  assurance  that  it  had  come,  and  to  inquire 
no  farther.  Meanwhile,  Jocelyn  introduced  his  com- 
panion to  her  as  "  General  Inigo,  a  gentleman  inter- 
ested in  music " ;  and  Mr.  Randolph  was  extracted 
from  his  retreat,  into  which  he  had  withdrawn  under 
the  impression  that  more  duns  were  after  him,  and 


DELIVERANCE.  65 

was  likewise  made  a  partaker  of  the  General's 
acquaintance.  The  latter  appeared  in  quite  a 
different  light  from  that  in  which  we  first  encoun- 
tered him.  He  had  not  only  been  assiduously 
instructed  by  Jocelyn  as  to  the  behavior  he  should 
put  on,  but  the  fresh  country  air  and  scenery,  and 
the  tendency  which  all  persons  who  live  in  some 
measure  by  luck  have  to  hope  for  a  fortunate  turn 
in  their  affairs,  had  combined  to  put  him  in  a  genial 
and  optimistic  frame  of  mind.  As  a  contrast  to  the 
gloom  in  which  they  had  lived  of  late,  this  sunny 
mood  of  the  General's  seemed  even  more  paradis- 
iacal than  would  have  been  the  case  at  a  cheerfuller 
time.  His  jokes  and  comicalities  had  an  arch  charm 
to  the  ears  and  eyes  of  Mr.  Randolph  and  his 
daughter  that  would  have  perplexed  the  manu- 
facturer of  them.  A  feeling  of  security  and  pleasant 
promise  diffused  itself  in  the  air,  though,  as  yet, 
there  was  no  known  foundation  for  it.  It  was  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  dinner  was  over,  but, 
in  consideration  of  the  city  habits  of  the  guests, 
preparations  were  made  for  one  of  those  high  teas 
which  combine  the  best  features  of  all  meals.  In 
the  meantime  the  old  ex- Virginian  rummaged  out  a 
bottle  of  claret  (which  the  General  secretly  wished 
had  been  whiskey) ,  and  proceeded  to  dispense  it  with 
something  of  the  courtly  air  that  had  belonged  to 
him  before  misfortune  and  misanthropy  had  marked 


66  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

him  for  their  own.  But  his  hospitality  was  tempered 
by  a  haunting  suspense.  What  was  the  General, 
and  what  did  he  intend  ?  Evidently  he  must  have 
had  a  purpose  of  no  ordinary  urgency,  to  bring  him 
all  the  way  from  New  York  City  hither.  His 
smiling  bearing  forbade  the  supposition  that  the 
purpose  could  be  a  hostile  one ;  but  why,  and  in 
what  way,  should  it  be  friendly  ?  It  was  only  by  an 
heroic  effort  that  Mr.  Randolph  subdued  the  evidence 
of  his  curiosity,  and  perhaps  did  not  succeed  in  dis- 
guising it  so  completely  but  that  his  guests  could 
amuse  themselves  by  detecting  it. 

At  length,  when  the  bottle  was  nearing  its  last 
glass,  Jocelyn  turned  to  the  young  hostess  with  his 
most  fascinating  manner  and  said,  "My  dear  Beatrix, 
I  wonder  whether  your  piano  is  in  tune?  The 
General  and  I  are  pining  for  some  music.  The  fall 
season  hasn't  begun  yet,  you  know,  and  positively 
I  don't  believe  either  he  or  I  have  heard  any 
singing  worthy  of  the  name  for  four  months,  —  eh, 
General?" 

"  Four  months  !  I  should  think  not,  by  Jupiter  ! " 
returned  the  General,  rubbing  his  nose  pleasantly. 
"  One  doesn't  hear  good  singing  as  often  as  that,  my 
dear  boy.  I'll  just  tell  you,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  Beatrix,  "  a  thing  my  dear  old  friend  Dorimar  said 
to  me  once  " — 

"  Was  Professor  Dorimar  a  friend  of  yours  ?  "  ex- 


DELIVERANCE,  67 

claimed  Beatrix,  with  sunshine  streaming  from  her 
eyes. 

"Well,  I  guess  it  was  a  good  while  before  you 
was  born  that  I  knew  him  first,"  said  the  General, 
gallantly  ;  "  and  there  was  nobody  had  much  to  say 
about  music  after  him  !  " 

"Oh,  I'll  sing  for  you  as  much  as  you  wish!" 
rejoined  the  young  lady,  all  alive  with  generous 
pleasure.  "  Thinking  of  Professor  Dorimar  always 
makes  me  feel  as  if  I  could  do  anything."  She  led 
the  way,  as  she  spoke,  to  the  inner  sitting-room,  the 
scene  of  her  late  battle  with  Mr.  Vinal.  The  gentle- 
men followed,  and  Jocelyn  took  the  opportunity  to 
murmur  to  Inigo,  "What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"If  she  could  sing  as  she  looks,"  responded  that 
personage,  "  I'd  never  bother  my  head  again  about 
the  Russian.  The  funny  thing  is,  this  gal  looks  a 
little  as  the  Russian  would  like  to,  if  she  could. 
But  the  beauties  can't  do  anything  but  look  beautiful, 
as  a  rule.  Well,  we'll  see.  I  might  like  to  have 
her  for  opera  bouffe,  anyhow." 

"  Were  you  on  the  Southern  side  during  the  war, 
General?"  inquired  Mr.  Randolph,  as  they  sat  down. 

"  Humph  !  my  commission  was  an  English  one," 
the  General  replied,  with  military  presence  of  mind. 
"  Hadn't  the  luck  to  see  your  country  till  after  the 
racket  was  over."  Here  he  endeavored  to  catch 
Jocelyn's  eye,  in  order  to  relieve  his  own  feelings  by 


68  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

a  wink ;  but  at  that  moment  Beatrix's  fingers 
touched  the  keys,  and  thenceforward  nothing  was 
possible  but  to  listen. 

It  need  not  be  asked  what  she  sang  on  thi? 
momentous  occasion.  Her  method  and  quality 
would  have  been  apparent  in  almost  any  selection. 
But  the  phases  of  emotion  through  which  she  had 
recently  passed  were  surging  toward  that  expression 
which  only  music  can  afford,  and,  with  deep-drawn 
breath  and  exultant  heart,  she  launched  into  a 
passage  from  one  of  those  grand  works  of  the  last 
century  which  all  the  intellectual  brilliance  and  pic- 
torial complexity  of  the  modern  gospel  of  music 
cannot  supplant  nor  outweigh.  As  the  mighty 
strains  won  control  of  the  listeners'  senses,  all  things 
seemed  to  undergo  a  noble  transformation.  There 
was  a  feeling  of  enlargement  and  exaltation ;  what 
was  trifling  and  ignoble  faded  out  of  sight,  or  was 
absorbed  into  the  prevailing  harmony  of  ordered 
beauty.  Passion  gained  majesty  from  restraint ; 
sorrow  throbbed  with  the  delight  of  joy,  and  joy 
assumed  the  dignity  of  sorrow.  The  mystic  unity 
of  art,  which  grasps  the  elements  of  things,  and  gives 
them  speech  and  meaning ;  the  utterance  of  the 
divine  reason,  which  transcends  the  bondage  of 
words ;  the  language  that  belongs  to  no  man,  but 
to  mankind,  — this  magic  and  mystery  of  song,  flow- 
ing forth  in  its  grandeur  and  enchantment  from  a 


DELIVERANCE.  69 

simple  girl's  throat,  cast  over  all  a  spell  of  wonder 
and  delight,  and,  but  for  the  profound  warrant  of  its 
beauty,  would  have  seemed  miraculous.  The  room 
in  which  the  auditors  sat  appeared  to  assume  finer 
proportions  ;  the  very  chairs  and  tables  were  endowed 
with  elegance,  and  the  persons  themselves  were  con- 
scious of  a  certain  stateliness  in  their  attitudes  and 
movements,  and  of  being  uplifted  to  a  higher  sphere 
of  thought  and  feeling  than  was  native  to  them. 
And  the  singer  was  transfigured ;  for  the  music 
which  touched  the  others  as  it  were  from  without 
was  made  the  very  form  and  fibre  of  her  soul.  It 
magnified  and  strengthened  her ;  it  annulled  the 
merely  individual  and  accidental  limitations  of  her 
being,  and  brought  her  into  that  large,  impersonal 
state  which  marks  the  artist  in  seasons  of  inspiration. 
So  was  it  with  the  pythoness  of  old,  who,  in  such 
measure  as  her  private  personality  was  subdued  and 
obliterated  by  the  god,  took  on  the  god's  own  super- 
human guise  of  majesty.  Beatrix,  when  she  sang, 
rose  above  Beatrix,  and  became  the  fearless  and 
self-unconscious  instrument  of  her  art's  expression. 
Whatever  reverence  and  dignity  belonged  to  music 
belonged,  in  such  moments,  to  the  musician ;  and 
she  bestowed  the  faculty  of  reverence  upon  those 
who  were  before  incapable  of  it. 

The  General  had  at  first  put  on  a  strictly  critical 
air,  as  of  one  to  whom  pleasure  and  social  amenities 


70  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

are  one  thing,  and  very  well  in  their  place;  but 
business,  quite  another.  After  two  or  three  minutes, 
however,  he  had  forgotten  all  about  everything, 
except  the  rise  and  fall,  the  swell  and  resonance, 
the  airy  gambollings  and  the  strong,  melodious  poise 
and  movement  of  this  matchless  voice.  There  is  a 
point  in  the  enjoyment  of  art  where  we  cease  to  draw 
comparisons,  and  only  feel  that  we  are  following  the 
artist's  charmed  footsteps  into  hitherto  unexplored 
regions  of  beauty  and  fascination.  Our  burden  of 
responsibility  falls  from  our  shoulders,  because  we  are 
conscious  that  what  we  now  see  or  hear  is  better  than 
anything  we  have  heretofore  known.  This  recogni- 
tion of  true  mastery,  wherever  and  whenever  met 
with,  is  among  the  sui-est  signs  of  knowledge  and 
experience.  A  fool  will  find  fault  with  Raphael, 
and  chat  through  a  symphony  by  Beethoven.  Gen- 
eral Inigo  was  not  a  fool.  He  was  a  vulgar  Jew, 
of  uncertain  nationality,  whose  past  history  and 
private  life  would  not  bear  examination  ;  but  he  knew 
what  music  and  musical  genius  are,  and  he  could 
estimate  accurately  the  rarity  and  value  of  the 
discovery  which  Jocelyn  had  led  him  to  make. 
Accidents  aside,  this  unknown  and  unsuspecting 
girl  would  be  one  of  the  great  prime  donne  of  the 
world.  It  was  not  a  matter  of  opinion,  but  of 
certainty.  Indeed,  the  General  flattered  himself 
that  no  one  besides  himself  and  Dorimar  would  be 


DELIVERANCE.  71 

able  to  understand  how  great  she  really  was.  As 
he  sat  there  and  listened  to  her,  with  his  fat  hands 
folded  on  his  waistcoat,  his  stumpy  little  feet 
crossed  one  over  the  other,  and  his  big  head  wagging 
and  swaying  in  involuntary  accord  with  the  splendid 
diapason  of  sound,  he  was  happier  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  his  life.  Not  only  was  his  reputation  saved, 
his  outlay  secured,  and  his  revenge  on  the  Russian 
made  certain,  but  his  name  would  go  down  to 
posterity  as  that  of  the  man  who  had  brought  before 
the  world  the  brightest  operatic  star  of  the  age.  "  I'll 
do  the  handsome  thing  by  her  —  I  will,  by  Jupiter  !  " 
thought  the  General  to  himself.  "  There  are  cases 
in  which  generosity  pays  fifty  per  cent. ,  and  here's 
one  of 'em." 

Beatrix  sang  for  the  better  part  of  an  hour,  and 
might  have  gone  on  indefinitely,  so  far  as  either  she 
or  her  auditors  were  concerned;  for  a  truly  noble 
voice,  rightly  trained  and  managed,  is  as  tireless 
and  untiring  as  it  is  beautiful.  But  mortal  existence 
is  full  of  petty  lets  and  hindrances  ;  and  Beatrix, 
being  for  the  present  a  hostess  as  well  as  Prima 
Donna  Assoluta,  was  obliged  to  go  and  see  about 
the  supper.  When  the  gentlemen  were  alone,  the 
General  pulled  down  his  waistcoat,  sat  up  in  his 
chair,  and,  after  regarding  Jocelyn  for  a  few  mo- 
ments between  half-closed  eyelids,  nodded  his  head 
several  times  slowly. 


72  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"I  see  you  are  fond  of  music,  General,"  said 
Mr.  Randolph,  discerningly. 

"Well,  music  and  I  are  under  some  obligations 
to  each  other,"  was  the  General's  reply.  "  Now, 
just  tell  me  —  has  that  young  lady  ever  sung  in 
public  ?  " 

"  My  daughter  ever  sing  in  public !  "  exclaimed 
the  young  lady's  father,  with  the  air  of  a  prince 
of  the  blood.  "  We  are  not  that  sort  of  people, 
sir !  " 

"  Come,  now,  Randolph,  this  is  between  friends 
you  know,"  said  Jocelyn,  smiling  as  one  who  is 
superior  to  prejudice.  "  Great  gifts  like  hers  — 
deuce  take  it,  you've  no  right  to  hide  'em  !  We're 
not  living  in  the  feudal  ages ;  what's  the  good  of  a 
girl's  being  talented,  if  nobody's  to  know  anything 
about  it?  Besides,  talent  means  money  nowadays  ; 
and  your  daughter's  voice  is  a  fortune,  if  it's  rightly 
managed  ;  don't  you  agree  with  me,  General? 

"Well,  a  great  deal  depends  on  the  management," 
returned  that  gentleman,  squeezing  his  large  nose 
between  his  thumb  and  forefinger.  "  But  with  good 
management  —  yes  —  she  could  make  money  ;  as 
much  as  she  wants." 

"I  should  say  she  could,  as  much  as  she  wants, 
or  as  much  as  you  want  either,  Randolph,  if  these 
stories  I  hear  about  your  embarrassments  have  any 
truth  in  'em." 


DELIVERANCE.  73 

"  I  scarcely  understand ;  perhaps  you  will  ex- 
plain yourself  more  fully,"  said  Randolph,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  in  a  manner  that  betrayed 
agitation. 

"I  see  you  don't  know  who  Inigo  is,"  observed 
Jocelyn,  suavely.  "  You've  made  such  a  hermit  of 
yourself  up  here,  of  late  years,  you've  dropped  out 
of  the  running.  Why,  Inigo,  my  dear  man  — 
simple  as  you  see  him  sit  there — is  the  foremost 
impressario  and  musical  manager  of  the  age.  He 
has  heard  a  report  of  our  Beatrix's  powers,  and,  — 
well,  go  ahead,  Inigo  ;  put  it  in  your  own  way." 

"I'll  just  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mr.  Randolph," 
said  the  impressario,  assuming  the  reins  of  the  con- 
versation with  a  wave  of  the  hand.  "  A  few  words 
are  best,  when  it's  about  business.  I  came  up  here 
to  find  out  if  your  daughter  could  sing  as  good  as 
Jocelyn,  here,  says  she  could.  Well,  she's  got  a 
fine  organ,  and  she  knows  what  to  do  with  it ;  no 
mistake  about  that !  Well,  I've  got  an  opening, 
and  I'll  take  her  in,  and  I'll  pay  her  first  prices ; 
that's  what  I'll  do.  She  goes  right  on,  in  opera, 
under  me,  and  she  makes  her  fortune  ;  that's  all  about 
it  I  I'm  a  square  man,  by  Jupiter !  and  I  don't 
make  no  fuss  about  terms ;  when  I  buy  a  good 
article,  I  pay  good  money  for  it.  When  I  say  I'll 
make  her  a  boom,  I'll  do  it.  When  Moses  Inigo 
says  he'll  do  the  management,  the  young  lady's  all 


74  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

right,  if  she  was  as  homely  as  a  cow  and  sung 
like  a  bull ;  and  if  she  gets  a  fool  to  manage  her,  or 
manages  herself  (it's  about  the  same  thing),  she 
might  sing  like  an  angel  and  look  like  Venus,  and 
not  make  fifty  dollars  a  week ;  and  don't  you  forget 
it !  " 

"I  am  not  accustomed,  I  need  hardly  say,"  ob- 
served Randolph,  with  an  appealing  glance  at 
Jocelyn,  and  endeavoring  to  appear  calm  and 
indifferent,  "  to  consider  or  discuss  such  matters. 
I  have  always  lived,  as  iny  forefathers  have  before 
me,  upon  my  private  resources,  without  reference 
to  trade  of  any  sort.  However,  gentlemen,  I  must 
admit  that  fortune  has  played  me  a  very  scurvy  trick, 
through  no  fault  of  my  own ;  and  I  suppose  that 
what  you  say  is  true :  the  good  old  days  are  pass- 
ing away,  and  each  one  of  us  has  to  fight  for  his 
own  hand.  At  the  same  time,  it  could  only  be  with 
the  greatest  reluctance,  and  under  pressure  of  the 
severest  necessity,  that  I  could  permit  a  daughter 
of  mine  "  — 

"To  be,  —  of  course,  —  that's  understood  !  "  put  in 
Jocelyn,  comfortably.  "  But  you'll  be  surprised  to 
find  how  little  annoyance  there  is  about  it ;  espe- 
cially since,  in  your  case,  it  very  fortunately  happens 
that  we  shall  be  able  to  put  Beatrix  upon  the  stage 
without  any  one's  being  aware  who  she  is.  She  will 
be  incognita  from  first  to  last." 


DELIVERANCE.  75 

"Ah!  that  changes  the  aspect  of  the  matter 
materially,"  said  Randolph,  looking  at  the  impressa- 
rio.  "But  it  occurs  to  me  that"  — 

The  entrance  of  Beatrix  herself  at  this  juncture 
prevented  the  thing  which  had  occurred  to  her  father 
from  becoming  known.  She  announced  that  supper 
was  ready.  The  gentlemen  rose,  and  Jocelyn,  ap- 
proaching her,  took  her  hand  and  put  it  under  his 
arm,  murmuring  confidently  in  her  ear,  "How 
would  our  little  Beatrix  like  to  pay  all  her  father's 
debts,  and  set  up  the  family  on  its  legs  again? 

Beatrix  gazed  round  at  him  with  searching  eyes 
and  questioning  lips.  The  unruly  part  of  her  ex- 
citement had  been  composed  by  her  singing ;  but 
the  exalted  mood  remained,  so  that  she  was  ready  to 
expect  anything  that  was  not  commonplace.  She 
could  not  have  told  what  Jocelyn  meant,  and  yet 
she  seemed  to  herself  to  anticipate  what  he  was 
going  to  say.  Good  news  was  in  the  air.  However, 
for  the  moment,  nothing  more  was  said.  Her  father 
was  behind,  with  the  General,  and  they  were  speak- 
ing in  an  undertone.  Her  heart  beat  high,  and  her 
step  was  light.  As  they  came  to  the  supper-table, 
and  Jocelyn  pressed  her  hand,  she  gave  him  a  smile, 
which,  had  he  been  worthy  of  it,,  would  have  knighted 
him  on  the  spot.  She  was  young,  and  knew  nothing 
worse  than  her  own  pure  self,  and  she  was  ready  to 
give  gratitude  without  waiting  to  know  for  what  her 


76  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

gratitude  was  due.  Experience  of  the  world  is  apt 
to  correct  this  impulse. 

The  conversation  at  table  wandered  at  first  over 
miscellaneous  topics ;  for  Mr.  Randolph  was  some- 
what at  a  loss  how  to  present  the  all-important 
subject  to  his  daughter  ;  Jocelyn  was  busy  thinking 
over  his  own  part  in  the  little  comedy,  and  the 
impressario,  besides  finding  much  to  occupy  his 
attention  in  the  viands,  was  now  wholly  at  ease 
in  his  own  mind  and  dreamed  of  no  difficulties. 
He  had  interpreted  Mr.  Randolph's  scruples  as  merely 
a  bid  for  good  payment,  to  which  he  had  responded 
in  his  usual  whole-souled  style ;  as  to  the  young 
lady,  of  course  she  would  follow  her  father's  lead. 
Of  the  three,  it  was  Jocelyn  who  spoke  first. 

"  I  don't  see  why  we  should  keep  this  dear  child 
any  longer  in  ignorance  of  the  plot  we  have  hatched 
against  her,"  he  said,  addressing  the  others,  but 
keeping  his  eyes  caressingly  on  Beatrix.  "  My  dear 
girl,  I  said  I  brought  you  fame  and  fortune ;  but, 
in  fact,  I  only  brought  you  the  opportunity  to  win 
them  for  yourself.  You  have  a  glorious  future 
before  you.  This  gentleman  is  the  owner  and 
manager  of  the  new  opera-house  in  the  city.  All 
your  favorite  operas  will  be  produced  there  this 
season,  splendidly  set  and  cast,  and  you,  my  dear 
Beatrix,  are  to  sing  the  leading  music." 

Beatrix  grew  pale,  and  turned  her  face  toward 


DELIVERANCE.  77 

her  father.  "O  papa,  can  I?"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"It  is  painful,  of  course,  to  contemplate  such  a 
thing,"  Mr.  Randolph  replied,  looking  down  in  his 
plate  with  an  uneasy,  evasive  air ;  "  but  we  are  poor 
folks  now,  you  know,  and  we  must  do  the  best  we 
can.  We  can  only  hope,  my  dear,  that  the  neces- 
sity will  not "  — 

"  Oh,  but  it  is  not  that !  "  exclaimed  the  girl, 
interrupting  him,  and  tremulous  with  excitement; 
"but  to  sing,  papa — to  sing  in  real  opera,  before 
a  real  audience  !  It  is  the  best  thing  in  the  world  ! 
But  can  I  do  it,  do  you  think?  Am  I  able? 
Would  Professor  Dorimar  have  wished  it?  I 
would  rather "  —  she  was  going  to  say,  marry  Mr. 
Vinal,  but  changed  it  to  "  I  would  rather  do  any- 
thing than  disgrace  Professor  Dorimar." 

"You  just  leave  all  that  to  me,  young  lady,"  said 
the  impressario,  nodding  good-naturedly.  "I  take 
the  risks  !  You'll  not  disgrace  Dorimar,  nor  no- 
body else.  You're  as  good  as  the  best  of  'em, 
though  it's  money  out  of  my  pocket  to  tell  you  so ! 
You'll  need  some  drilling  about  the  stage  business  ; 
of  course,  that  —  But  don't  you  worry  ;  I'll  fix  it  all 
right !  You've  got  a  month  or  six  weeks'  rehearsals, 
and  you'll  catch  on  as  quick  as  most  gals,  I  guess." 

Thus  far  the  glory  and  delight  of  the  merely 
musical  aspect  of  the  adventure  had  so  dazzled 


78  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

Beatrix's  eyes  that  she  had  thought  of  nothing  else ; 
but  now  a  new  idea  entered  her  head. 

"Am  I  to  be  paid  for  doing  this?"  she  asked, 
glancing  from  her  father  to  Jocelyn.  "Of  course, 
I  mean  by  and  by,  —  if  I  succeed.  Is  that  what 
you  meant  when  you  talked  about  my  winning  for- 
tune ?  But  I  would  rather  not  make  money  in  that 
way  —  I  would  rather  make  it  in  some  other  way 
than  by  singing,  because  ....  But  I  couldn't 
make  it  in  any  other  way,  I  suppose,"  she  added, 
faltering  a  little.  "  Singing  is  all  I  can  do  !  And, 
after  all,  it  would  be  good  if  my  singing  would  help 
pay  our  debts  ;  that  would  not  be  unworthy  even 
of  music,  would  it,  papa?  I  wouldn't  take  money 
to  get  rich,  but  I  would  to  prevent  your  being 

troubled  any  more  by O  papa,  can 

it  be  true?  I'm  sure  you  are  very  kind,  General 
Inigo  ;  and  thank  you  for  telling  him  of  me,  Mr. 
Jocelyn." 

This  speech —  a  broken  medley  of  musical  tones, 
smiles,  wet  eyelashes,  pauses  of  reflection,  and 
eager  utterance  —  completed  the  General's  captiva- 
tion.  He  thumped  his  fat  fist  down  on  the  table- 
cloth and  exclaimed,  "  By  Jupiter !  gentlemen ;  I 
move  we  drink  the  health  of  the  new  prima 
donna,  " — 

"  And  christen  her  at  the  same  time,"  put  in 
Jocelyn,  quickly.  "You  haven't  heard  your  new 


DELIVERANCE.  79 

stage  name,  Beatrix.  Henceforward  you  are  to  be 
known  to  the  world,  not  as  Beatrix  Randolph,  but 
as  —  what  is  it,  General  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle  Marana,"  said  Inigo.  "Here's 
Mademoiselle  Marana's  health,  boys !  May  she 
stand  at  the  top  of  the  profession,  and  sing  pearls 
and  diamonds,  like  the  gal  in  the  fairy  tale  !  Down 
she  goes ! " 

"  Up  she  goes  !  you  mean,"  said  Jocelyn,  laugh- 
ing. "Well,  mademoiselle,  how  do  you  like  your 
new  name  ?  " 

"  It's  very  pretty,"  answered  she ;  "  but  how  did 
I  get  it?" 

"  If  you  or  your  father  had  been  in  New  York 
lately,  you  wouldn't  need  to  ask.  The  name  of 
Mademoiselle  Marana,  the  great  prima  donna  from 
St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow,  is  placarded  all  over 
town.  All  the  world  is  agog  to  see  and  hear 
her.  The  new  opera-house  was  built  expressly  for 
her." 

"But  how"  — 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you.  There's  another  lady, 
somewhere,  who  sings  under  that  name,  and  whom 
Inigo  had  invited  to  sing  here.  But  she  refused  to 
keep  her  word  at  the  last  moment ;  and  since  the 
public  must  have  some  new  divinity  to  worship,  and 
since  I  know  that  it  would  be  painful  to  your  father 
to  have  you  appear  under  your  own  name,  I  advised 


80  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

Inigo  to  put  you  in  her  place.  That's  the  whole 
story." 

Beatrix's  clear  eyes  grew  troubled.  "  It  doesn't 
seem  right  to  pretend  to  be  another  person  —  it 
would  be  deceiving  people,"  she  said. 

"  Nobody  goes  on  the  stage  under  his  own 
name,"  replied  Jocelyn.  "  To  go  on  the  stage  is 
to  change  your  identity,  and  become  some  one  else. 
Nobody's  deceived,  because  nobody  expects  any- 
thing else." 

But  Beatrix  at  once  detected  the  flaw  in  this 
argument.  "  Why  should  I  be  called  Marana  ? " 
she  demanded.  "  Why  not  give  me  some  other 
name  that  nobody  has  ?  " 

"It  seems  to  me  that  that  might  be  preferable," 
observed  Mr.  Randolph. 

"My  dear  Randolph,  it's  merely  a  business  ques- 
tion," said  Jocelyn,  not  sorry  to  make  the  explana- 
tion to  him  instead  of  to  his  daughter.  "  We  call 
her  Marana  simply  because  Marana  is  the  name  in 
people's  mouths  at  this  moment.  To  give  her  an- 
other name  would  be  to  create  all  sorts  of  doubt 
and  confusion,  in  the  course  of  which  the  dear 
child's  identity  would  be  certain  to  be  discovered. 
Nobody  here  knows  Marana  by  sight  or  sound  ;  so, 
even  if  Beatrix  were  inferior  as  a  singer,  they  would 
be  defrauded  of  nothing.  But  the  fact  is,  —  as 
Inigo,  who  has  heard  the  lady,  will  confirm  me  in 


DELIVEBANCE.  81 

saying,  —  Beatrix  can  sing  every  bit  as  well  as  Ma- 
rana,  and  rather  better ;  so  we  are  giving  the  public 
even  more  than  they  bargained  for.  It's  a  pure 
formality ;  but  some  forms  are  of  the  first  impor- 
tance practically.  To  bring  her  out  under  any 
other  name  than  Marana  would  be  a  great  injustice 
to  our  friend  the  General,  who  has,  so  to  speak, 
made  out  all  his  invoices  and  labelled  all  his  goods 
under  that  title ;  and  it  would  be  quite  as  great  an 
injustice  to  Beatrix  herself,  who,  instead  of  at  once 
receiving  the  salary  that  her  genius  deserves,  would 
have  to  fight  an  uphill  battle  through  stupidity  and 
prejudice,  and,  taking  all  accidents  into  considera- 
tion, might  not  win  through  at  all." 

"  It  may  be  foolish,  but  I  can't  help  not  liking  it," 
said  Beatrix,  feeling  unhappy.  "But  you  know 
best,  papa,  and  I'll  do  what  you  say." 

"  I  believe  the  amount  of  the  salary  has  not  been 
mentioned,"  said  Mr.  Randolph,  turning  to  the  im- 
pressario. 

The  latter  was  about  to  reply,  when  Jocelyn 
swiftly  took  up  the  word.  "  She  will  be  paid  three 
thousand  dollars  a  night,"  said  he,  "and  there  will 
be  from  three  to  four  performances  a  week." 

Mr.  Randolph  grew  very  red,  and  could  not  sup- 
press a  start.  His  most  sanguine  expectations  had 
not  exceeded  a  tenth  of  this  sum.  From  nine  to 
twelve  thousand  dollars  a  week  !  —  it  was  scarcely 


82  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

credible  ;  it  was  magnificent ;  it  was  a  fortune  once 
a  month  !  Meanwhile  Beatrix  sat  almost  indifferent, 
much  to  Inigo's  admiration;  but  the  truth  was,  the 
girl  knew  nothing  of  the  value  of  money,  and  was, 
moreover,  personally  much  less  concerned  about  the 
rewards  of  the  enterprise  than  about  the  enterprise 
itself.  She  certainly  never  imagined  that  her 
father's  discrimination  between  right  and  wrong 
could  be  influenced  by  such  considerations. 

After  a  pause  to  recover  his  composure,  Mr. 
Randolph  cleared  his  throat  and  said :  "  I  only 
asked  for  information ;  I  know  little  about  these 
matters,  but  I  presume  the  sum  you  name  would 
be  considered  fair  remuneration.  As  to  the  morality 
of  the  matter,"  he  added,  breaking  into  his  shrill 
laugh,  "I  agree  with  you,  Jocelyn,  that  the  ques- 
tion is  more  one  of  form  than  anything  else ;  and 
it  would  be  an  ungracious  return  for  General  Inigo's 
courtesy  to  subject  him  to  the  embarrassment  you 
indicate.  I  think  you  may  call  yourself  Made- 
moiselle Marana  with  a  clear  conscience,  my  dear." 

Beatrix  sighed,  and  faintly  smiled.  The  worst 
that  can  be  said  of  her  at  this  moment  is  that  she 
did  not  know  whether  she  were  glad  or  sorry. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHAT  WAS   GOING  ON  ELSEWHERE. 

TOCELYN  and  the  impressario  stayed  over-night 
at  the  Randolphs',  and  completed  the  details 
of  the  agreement  for  Mademoiselle  Marana's  appear- 
ance. She  was  to  come  to  the  city  in  a  few  days, 
take  up  her  abode  at  a  hotel,  and  begin  rehearsals 
immediately.  Before  leaving,  Inigo  handed  Mr. 
Randolph  a  check  for  three  thousand  dollars,  as 
advance  salary,  to  enable  him  to  make  the  necessary 
arrangements ;  and  the  two  gentlemen  took  their 
departure  with  many  professions  of  good-will  on 
both  sides. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  a  tall,  rather  stern-looking 
young  man,  with  grave  blue  eyes  under  thick  level 
brows,  and  a  short,  dense,  brown  beard  covering 
the  lower  part  of  his  face,  walked  into  General  In- 
igo's  office,  and  was  informed  that  the  General  was 
expected  every  minute.  He  seated  himself  at  a 
table,  undid  the  roll  of  paper  that  he  carried,  and 
proceeded  to  busy  himself  in  making  calculations  and 
sketches. 

This  young  man,  whose  name  was  Geoffrey  Bel- 


84  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

lingham,  was  a  New  Englander,  whose  family  had 
lived  for  many  generations  in  an  ancient  town  not 
very  far  from  Boston.  The  town  in  question  had 
formerly  possessed  no  small  importance  in  a  maritime 
sense,  and  the  Bellinghams  had  been  for  a  long 
period  identified  with  its  prosperity.  One  of  the 
long  rambling  streets  that  skirted  the  sea-front  still 
bore  their  name,  and  so  did  a  half-ruined  wharf, 
stretching  out  into  the  harbor,  and  now  used  as  a 
landing-place  for  stray  fishing-smacks,  though,  in  the 
last  century,  it  had  received  the  cargoes  of  many  a 
stately  ship  from  the  East  Indies  and  the  Spanish 
main.  The  Bellinghams  of  that  epoch  had  been 
prominent  and  successful  traders ;  and  their  family 
mansion,  which  was  still  standing  till  within  fifty 
years  ago,  with  deep-browed  dormer  windows  and 
an  overhanging  upper-story,  was  among  the  most 
imposing  edifices  in  the  place.  The  first  immigrant 
and  his  descendants  were  Puritans  of  the  strictest 
type,  and  were  active  in  the  wars  against  the 
Indians,  and  in  the  persecution  of  witches  and 
Quakers.  Afterward,  representatives  of  the  family 
served  with  distinction  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution, 
chiefly  by  sea ;  and  the  prizes  which  they  captured 
still  further  enriched  them.  From  the  early  part  of 
the  present  century,  however,  their  prosperity  began 
to  recede,  along  with  that  of  the  town  with  which 
they  were  so  closely  allied.  Large  families  of 


GOING    ON  ELSEWHERE.  85 

children  divided  and  dissipated  the  property ;  many 
of  them  moved  to  other  parts  of  the  country ;  those 
who  remained,  proudly  mindful  of  their  past  gran- 
deur, and  unwilling  to  descend  to  a  lower  level  in 
search  of  new  ways  to  fortune,  gradually  faded  out 
of  sight  or  existence,  •  retaining  to  the  end  the  old 
traits  of  character,  rendered  harsher  and  gloomier  by 
their  more  restricted  circumstances.  At  length, 
about  thirty  years  ago,  Geoffrey  Bellingham  was 
born.  He  was  a  child  of  unusual  intelligence,  and 
with  a  strong  appetite  both  for  reading  and  advent- 
ure ;  by  the  time  he  was  seven  years  old  he  had 
made  himself  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  all  the 
books  in  his  father's  home,  and  was  proficient  in 
studies  generally  reserved  for  children  three  or  four 
years  his  senior.  But  the  monotonous  and  lifeless 
existence  of  the  sluggish  old  town  vexed  and  wearied 
him ;  he  wished  he  had  come  into  the  world  a 
hundred  years  earlier,  when  men  went  forth  to  bat- 
tle, and  to  sail  the  seas,  and  the  days  were  full  of 
novelty,  activity,  and  excitement.  His  heart  stirred 
within  him  to  bear  a  hand  in  the  work  and  movement 
of  the  world,  and  such  echoes  as  reached  him  of 
what  was  going  on  in  other  places  and  lands  kept 
alive  this  longing  and  developed  it.  He  met  with 
no  sympathy,  however,  from  his  own  family  circle, 
and  at  length  ceased  to  make  them  confidants  of  his 
desires  and  projects  ;  yet  this  discouragement  to  the 


86  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

utterance  of  his  thoughts  led  him  to  cherish  them 
not  less  but  more  ardently.  Finally,  in  his  twelfth 
year,  he  ran  away  to  sea,  taking  passage  on  board  a 
Boston  vessel  bound  for  the  Pacific.  He  was  absent 
three  years,  and  what  were  his  adventures  during 
this  period  was  never  exactly  known.  He  had  cir- 
cumnavigated the  globe,  at  all  events,  and  had  seen 
people  of  all  kinds  and  colors ;  he  had  encountered 
many  hardships,  met  with  some  good  luck,  and  had 
learned  something  from  whatsoever  befell.  He  had 
spent  a  few  months  in  Australia,  and  got  some  gold 
there ;  and  he  came  home  first  mate  on  board  an 
English  blockade-runner  from  Liverpool.  It  was 
in  the  midst  of  our  Civil  War ;  the  blockade-runner 
was  captured  and  Bellingham  was  taken  prisoner. 
On  his  announcing  his  readiness  to  take  service 
under  the  Federal  flag,  however,  he  was  allowed  to 
join  the  crew  of  a  government  war-vessel ;  he  had 
the  good  luck  to  see  a  great  deal  of  fighting,  and  was 
promoted  for  gallantry  and  general  efficiency.  Be- 
fore the  year  was  out  he  met  a  Confederate  bullet, 
which  put  an  end  to  his  participation  in  the  war,  and 
very  nearly  severed  his  connection  with  all  human 
affairs.  Nevertheless  he  recovered,  and  made  his 
way  to  the  North,  with  a  thousand  dollars  in  his 
pocket.  On  reaching  his  native  place,  he  found  his 
father  and  mother  both  dead,  and  his  sister  (the  only 
child  besides  himself)  married.  He  was  at  this  time 


GOING    ON  ELSEWHERE.  87 

about  seventeen  years  old,  but  as  tall  and  robust 
(barring  the  temporary  effects  of  his  wound)  as  a 
much  older  man ;  with  a.  premature  gravity  and 
dignity  of  demeanor,  and  a  strong,  penetrating,  and 
resolute  mind.  After  remaining  quiet  for  a  month 
or  two,  to  recuperate  his  physical  powers  and  to 
think  over  his  position,  he  determined  to  be  an 
architect.  He  set  to  work  at  once,  with  his  usual 
energy  and  persistence  ;  and  after  having  familiarized 
himself  with  the  rudiments  of  the  profession,  at  the 
best  scientific  school  in  the  country,  he  entered  an 
architect's  office  in  New  York,  and  worked  there 
from  twelve  to  fifteen  hours  a  day  for  seven  years. 
Unremitting  application  such  as  this,  rendered  phys- 
ically possible  as  it  was  by  an  invincible  constitu- 
tion, and  turned  to  the  best  advantage  by  a  powerful 
and  comprehensive  intellect,  could  not  fail  to  have 
its  effect. 

When  Bellingham,  at  the  end  of  his  apprentice- 
ship period,  set  up  in  business  on  his  own  account, 
there  were  few  men  in  the  country  who  possessed  a 
broader  and  sounder  knowledge  of  architecture  than 
this  young  man  of  twenty- three,  or  who  had  so  much 
taste  and  originality  in  matters  of  design.  The  re- 
mainder of  his  professional  history,  being  mainly  a 
record  of  well -deserved  and  increasing  success,  has 
little  interest.  A't  the  epoch  of  his  entrance  into 
this  story,  he  had  had  a  hand  in  many  of  the  best 


88  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

buildings  of  our  large  cities,  both  private  and  public  ; 
and  incidentally  he  had  been  brought  in  contact 
with  a  great  number  of  people  whom  it  might  be 
deemed  socially  expedient  to  know.  But  Belling- 
ham  scarcely  seemed  to  have  the  ordinary  social 
instinct.  His  manners  were  abrupt  and  reserved, 
and  he  had  a  very  disconcerting  glance  for  those  who 
seemed  disposed  to  attempt  to  be  familiar  with  him. 
The  few  persons  with  whom  he  associated  on  any- 
thing like  intimate  terms  were  chiefly  artists  and 
literary  Bohemians  ;  but  he  was  very  popular  among 
his  workmen,  toward  whom  his  bearing  was  kindly 
and  even  affable,  though  he  held  them  strictly  under 
control.  He  seemed  to  have  a  temperamental 
antipathy  against  aristocratical  or  exclusive  preten- 
sions of  any  kind,  though  in  a  certain  sense  no  one 
was  more  exclusive  and  aristocratic  than  he.  His 
humility  was  very  proud  humility,  indeed.  He  liked 
to  tell  himself  that  he  was  simply  a  man  like  other 
men,  and  that  he  would  neither  claim  superiority 
nor  suffer  it ;  but  that  was  only  to  remove  the 
superiority  that  actually  belonged  to  him  from  one 
place  and  to  put  it  in  another, —  to  deny  it  in  the  outer 
region  of  circumstances  and  accessories,  and  to 
recognize  it  (however  tacitly)  in  the  interior  region 
of  intellect  and  character.  The  type  is  no  uncom- 
mon one,  as  the  critics  say ;  and  it"  is  perhaps  a  pity, 
nowadays,  that  it  is  not  a  great  deal  commoner. 


GOING    ON  ELSEWHERE.  89 

Though  repellent  in  several  ways,  it  has  some 
qualities  of  almost  infinite  redemption.  It  includes 
everything  that  we  call  .masculine.  Its  exemplars 
are  often  deficient  in  humor ;  but  they  have  a 
sternness  and  simplicity  that  are  to  the  other  parts 
of  human  nature  what  sea-salt  is  to  water.  They 
are  often  unjust,  but  they  are  never  complaisant. 
They  may  be  bitter,  but  they  are  never  sweet ;  or 
hard,  but  never  soft.  And  yet  there  is  another 
side  to  them — but  only  very  few — perhaps  only 
one — ever  comes  to  know  it.  Enough  of  general- 
izations. 

Geoffrey  Bellingham  had  not  the  air  of  being  sus- 
ceptible to  feminine  charms.  His  manner,  when  he 
was  brought  in  contact  with  the  gentler  sex,  under- 
went no  gentle  and  illuminating  change.  The  ele- 
ments of  his  nature  seemed  averse  from  harmonizing 
with  those  of  women.  When  he  happened  to  speak 
with  a  woman,  he  would  express  himself  in  his  usual 
curt,  laconic  way,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
face  the  while,  with  a  sort  of  unsympathetic  inquisi- 
tion. The  impression  conveyed  was  that  he  con- 
sidered women  insufficient  and  untrustworthy.  On 
the  other  hand  he  never  railed  against  them,  as  self- 
conscious  misogynists  do ;  his  indifference  seemed 
not  to  be  the  result  of  an  exhaustive  or  mortifying 
experience  of  them  in  the  past ;  it  was  scientific  or 
temperamental  rather.  He  recognized  their  func- 


90  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

tional  uses  to  the  race  and  to  society,  but  did  not 
care  to  be  personally  concerned  with  them  more  than 
was  necessary.  A  very  ordinary  female  —  a  country 
farmer's  wife,  or  a  girl  in  the  city  street — was  ap- 
parently less  irksome  company  for  him  than  a  lady 
endowed  with  the  beauty  and  cultivated  grace  of 
good-breeding.  This  may  have  been  because  re- 
fined society  (which  really  exists  only  in  the  pres- 
ence of  ladies  —  men  by  themselves  are  all  barba- 
rians) embarrassed  him ;  that  he  did  not  know 
how  to  make  himself  agreeable.  At  all  events,  he 
preferred  —  if  practice  be  any  indication  of  prefer- 
ence—  the  society  of  men,  — men  of  a  rough  and 
unconventional  sort.  He  never  was  coarse  or  vul- 
gar himself,  but  these  qualities  seemed  to  please  him 
in  others ;  he  loved  the  rank,  unrestrained  expres- 
sion of  human  nature.  He  was  rigorously  cleanly 
in  his  personal  habits,  but  his  dress  was  plain 
and  careless.  Seen  from  behind  you  would  have 
taken  him  for  a  master- workman ;  but  when  he 
faced  you,  you  would  have  reconsidered  your  con- 
clusion. 

But  his  professional  reputation  was  so  high  and 
so  well  attested,  that  his  social  disqualifications  did 
not  injure  his  success  ;  and  when  General  Inigo  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  a  grand  new  opera-house  Belling- 
ham  was  among  those  to  whom  he  applied  for  a  plan 
and  an  estimate,  and  it  was  Bellingham  who  got  the 


GOING    ON  ELSEWHERE.  91 

contract.  The  result  was  a  building  which  many 
judges  considered  to  be  second  to  none  of  its  kind 
in  the  world.  It  was  beautiful,  it  was  luxurious, 
it  was  acoustically  a  marvel,  it  was  fire-proof.  Inci- 
dentally a  number  of  artists  achieved  renown  and 
made  money  by  the  decorations  which  they  executed, 
under  Bellingham's  supervision,  for  its  inner  and 
outer  walls.  New  York  boasted  of  it,  the  papers 
contained  descriptions  of  it,  and  the  illustrated  jour- 
nals published  pictures  of  it,  and  endeavored,  but 
unsuccessfully,  to  obtain  a  portrait  of  the  architect. 
But,  as  a  compensation,  there  was  engraved  a  digni- 
fied and  imposing  representation  of  General  Inigo, 
and  a  record  of  his  brilliant  and  typically  American 
career.  As  has  been  already  intimated,  moreover, 
the  air  was  full  of  rumors  and  conjectures  as  to  the 
great  Marana  ;  how  she  compared  with  the  queens  of 
song  already  known  to  Western  audiences  ;  who  she 
was  ;  what  she  was  ;  how  much  money  she  was  likely 
to  carry  away  with  her ;  whether  she  would  be  re- 
ceived into  New  York  society.  Everybody  asked 
these  questions,  and  nobody  seemed  able  to  answer 
them,  unless  it  were  the  General,  who  mostly  con- 
tented himself  with  the  assertion  that  she  was  the 
best,  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  expensive,  and  the 
most  eccentric  prima  donna  who  had  ever  trod  the 
American  operatic  stage.  She  was  something  alto- 
gether unique  and  unprecedented  —  so  very  superior 


92  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

that,  hitherto,  she  had  condescended  to  appear 
only  before  emperors  and  kings ;  but,  the  General 
would  add,  with  a  wise  wink  at  his  questioner, 
the  lady  thought  it  no  derogation  of  her  dignity, 
but  rather  the  contrary,  to  sing  to  an  audience 
each  one  of  whom  was  an  independent  continental 
sovereign,  at  from  two  fifty  to  twenty-five  dollars 
a  head. 

Bellingham  had  been  waiting  in  the  General's 
office  fifteen  minutes  when  the  latter  appeared, 
with  Jocelyn  on  his  arm,  both  in  the  best  of 
spirits.  The  architect  did  not  rise  from  his  chair 
or  make  any  other  response  than  a  preoccupied 
nod  to  the  expansive  greetings  of  the  gentle- 
man. "If  you  have  your  wits  about  you,"  he 
said  to  Inigo,  "look  at  this  plan  and  tell  me 
your  idea  about  it." 

"  What's  it  all  about,  anyhow  ?  "  returned  the  irn- 
pressario,  removing  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  and 
pulling  himself  together.  "  Stage  entrance  !  What's 
the  use  botheriu'  with  that  ?  Just  make  it  so  as  they 
can  get  in  and  out,  and  the  gals  can  see  their  fel- 
lows "  — 

"  No,  sir,"  interposed  Bellingham,  quietly.  "  I 
want  to  stop  that." 

"  Stop  what,  in  the  name  o'  gracious?" 

"  Fellows  hanging  round  the  stage-door  for  the 
girls  to  come  out.  I  don't  like  it;  and  I  mean 


GOING    ON  ELSEWHERE.  93 

to  give  the  girls  a  chance  to  get  off  free  if  they 
choose." 

"Your  saving  clause  will  cover  ninety-nine  cases 
in  a  hundred,  I  fancy,"  remarked  Jocclyn,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  "  demanded 
Bellingham,  looking  at  him  ;  "and  what  have  you  to 
do  with  it,  either?" 

"  Oh,  I  was  merely  startled  to  see  you  turning 
missionary,"  replied  the  other,  moving  away. 

Bellingham  paid  no  further  notice  to  him. 

"  By  connecting  the  window  above  the  lower 
door,  by  means  of  an  iron  bridge  of  fifteen  feet 
span,  with  the  corridor  in  the  building  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  alley,"  he  said,  referring  to 
his  drawing,  "you  give  additional  means  of  exit 
either  by  the  street-door  of  that  building,  or  by 
the  upper  passage  leading  to  the  elevated  railway 
station.  Well?" 

"What'll  it  cost?"  inquired  Inigo. 

"Not  more  than  eight  hundred,  or  I'll  pay  the 
difference." 

"  It's  all  darn  nonsense ;  but  I'll  do  it,  to  oblige 
you,"  said  Inigo. 

"That  way,  if  you  like,"  said  Bellingham,  fold- 
ing up  his  plan.  "  Good-day." 

"Odd  fish,  that  fellow,"  observed  Jocelyn,  when 
the  architect  had  gone  out. 


94  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"  I  just  tell  you  what,"  said  Inigo,  "  if  that  odd 
fish  was  an  impressario  the  divas  wouldn't  go  back  on 
him,  — not  much  !  " 

"  Why  wouldn't  they  ?  " 

"  Oh,  maybe  they  wouldn't  dare ;  but  they 
wouldn't,  anyhow." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  know  a  man  when  I  see  him,"  returned  the 
other,  wagging  his  head,  "  and  so  do  they." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOW   EVERYTHING   WAS   MADE    PLEASANT    AND 
EASY   FOR  HER. 


nnWO  or  three  days  afterward  Jocelyn  betook 
himself  to  a  small  and  rather  shabby-looking 
house  in  East  Eighteenth  street,  and  asked  if  Mrs. 
Bemax  were  at  home.  The  woman  who  opened  the 
door  had  on  a  dingy  dress  and  a  brown  shawl,  which 
she  kept  across  her  breast  with  one  hand.  Her  hair 
appeared  not  to  have  been  brushed  lately  ;  detached 
strands  of  it  dangled  across  her  forehead.  Her  feet 
were  encased  in  an  old  pair  of  button-boots,  with 
most  of  the  buttons  missing.  She  sjiid,  in  a  weary 
and  discontented  voice,  that  Mrs.  Bemax  was  in  ; 
and  Jocelyn  went  upstairs.  He  entered  the  front 
room  on  the  first  floor.  This  room  had  a  dingy  and 
brownish  aspect,  similar  to  that  of  the  woman  with 
the  shawl  ;  the  pattern  was  worn  off  the  carpet, 
except  near  the  walls  ;  the  furniture  was  meagre 
and  rickety;  upon  the  wall  between  the  windows 
hung,  askew,  a  print  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  and 
his  family,  taken  from  some  illustrated  paper,  and 


96  BEATEIX  RANDOLPH. 

framed  in  a  wooden  frame,  stained  black  and  var- 
nished. One  or  two  novels,  in  the  twenty-cent 
pamphlet  form,  lay  on  the  table,  the  outer  pages  torn 
and  soiled.  On  the  mantel-piece  was  a  small  pew- 
ter-cased clock,  which  ticked  very  loud  and  was 
about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  fast.  The  only 
pretty  thing  in  the  room  was  a  photograph  of  a 
chubby  little  child,  about  four  years  of  age.  It  was 
mounted  in  a  tasteful  -standard  frame  of  stamped 
leather ;  and  a  small  vase  containing  two  or  three 
flowers  stood  in  front  of  it.  The  photograph  itself 
was  much  faded  and  was  in  the  style  of  ten  years 
ago. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  tall,  middle-aged  woman,  with 
a  square-shaped  face  and  rather  strongly  marked 
features,  came  into  the  room.  Her  eyes  and  brows 
were  "dark  ;  her  hair  jras  slightly  touched  with  gray. 
The  corners  of  her  large  mouth  had  acquired  an 
indrawn  look,^apparently  from  a  habit  of  pressing 
her  lips  together ;  her  general  expression  was  studi- 
ously impassive.  She  looked  like  ono  accustomed 
to  meet  with  rebuffs  and  disappointments,  and  to 
put  up  with  them  _when  necessary,  though  never 
with  meekness  and  resignation.  There  was  an  air 
about  her  that  showed  she  had  once  been  familiar 
with  the  handsome  side  of  the  world,  but,  from 
whatever  cause,  had  discontinued  to  enjoy  or  practise 
its  refinements.  There  were  more  hard  and  un pleas- 


MADE   PLEASANT  AND   EASY.  97 

ant  things  in  her  memory  than  the  contrary ;  and 
these  memories  and  experiences  had  worn  away  her 
former  comeliness  and  made  her  sceptical  and  some- 
what malicious,  instead  of  gentle  and  engaging. 

"Well,  Hamilton,"  she  said,  as  she  came  in,  "I 
hope  you've  brought  me  some  money." 

"  Money,  my  dear  Meg  !  Didn't  I  send  you  some 
last  week?" 

"Yes,  enough  to  pay  up  my  arrears  of  board. 
I've  had  none  to  spend  on  myself  for  a  month,  and  I 
have  only  one  other  dress  to  my  back,  and  that  is  not 
fit  to  be  seen." 

"  Things  are  more  expensive  here  than  in  England. 
I  told  you  that  when  you  insisted  on  coming  here. 
You  would  have  been  more  comfortable  at  home." 

"Home  is  where  the  heart  is,"  she  replied,  with 
an  intonation  of  sombre  sarcasm.  "  My  heart  is  not 
in  England,  wherever  else  it  may  be." 

"  Well,  I've  been  very  busy,"  said  Jocelyn. 

"  So  you  always  tell  me  ;  but  I  presume,  as  usual, 
it  is  no  business  of  mine." 

"Well,  my  dear,  it's  only  the  money  aspect  of  my 
business  that  you  feel  any  interest  in." 

"  If  you  mean  there  is  no  longer  any  sentiment 
between  us,  I  cordially  admit  it,"  was  the  answer. 
"  I  don't  care  the  snap  of  my  finger  for  you,  or  for 
any  one  else,  now  alive.  But  I  have  some  claims 
upon  you,  and  I've  come  here  to  enforce  them," 


98  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"  You  have  the  photograph  there  still,  I  see," 
remarked  Jocelyn,  turning  to  the  table.  "Poor 
little  fellow  !  If  he'd  lived,  I'd  have  made  a  man  of 
him." 

"  Yes  !  You'd  have  made  the  same  sort  of  man 
of  him  as  you've  made  woman  of  his  mother.  I'm 
glad  he's  dead,  if  it's  only  to  save  him  from  know- 
ing what  sort  of  a  father  he's  got !  However,  you 
said  that  to  put  me  in  a  good  humor,  I  suppose. 
What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"I  vow,  Meg,  you're  too  confoundedly  sour  for 
anything,"  exclaimed  Jocelyn,  twisting  his  whiskers. 
"  I  never  meant  you  any  harm ;  I've  always  done 
what  I  could  to  help  you  along,  and  been  sorry  I 
couldn't  do  more.  And  now  I've  come  to  tell  you 
of  an  arrangement  that  will  enable  you  to  live  at 
your  ease  the  rest  of  your  days ;  and  this  is  the  way 
I  am  received.  Come,  now  !  " 

"  It  is  impossible  you  should  intend  any  benefit  to 
me  that  would  not  benefit  you  ten  times  more," 
said  Mrs.  Bemax,  impassively.  "  To  talk  of  gratitude, 
between  you  and  me,  is  as  absurd  as  to  talk  of  love. 
Go  on." 

"  You  do  me  gross  injustice ;  you  are  like  all 
women  with  a  grievance  !  "  returned  Jocelyn,  whose 
temper  was  certainly  very  easy.  "My  scheme  is 
this :  to  get  you  out  of  these  scrubby  lodgings ;  to 
set  you  up  in  the  best  hotel  in  town;  to  provide 


MADE   PLEASANT  AND   EAST.  99 

you  with  plenty  of  handsome  dresses,  and  a  carriage 
to  drive  in ;  to  bring  you  in  contact  with  all  the 
swells  in  New  York,  and  to  put  you  in  receipt  of  an 
income  of  twelve  hundred  dollars  a  year.  Have  you 
any  fault  to  find  with  that  ?  " 

"  What  are  the  services  for  which  this  is  the  pay- 
ment? "  Mrs.  Bemax  inquired. 

"To  chaperone  a  lady,  — nothing  more." 
"  A  lady ! "  repeated  the  other,  a  peculiar  smile 
"drawing  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth  ;  "  I  begin 
to  understand  !     Who  is  she  ?  " 

"The  prima  donna  at  the  new  opera-house." 
"  Yes ;  in  whom  you  are  tenderly  interested.  I 
have  heard  something  about  her.  I  am  to  act  as 
her  companion,  —  that  is,  to  be  your  go-between,  and 
make  everything  secure  and  comfortable  for  you. 
Taking  everything  into  consideration,  Hamilton, 
that  is  very  characteristic  of  you ;  a  very  delicate 
piece  of  kindness  !  " 

"  Bah  !  Meg,  your  cynicism  is  overdone ;  you 
are  on  a  wrong  scent  entirely.  In  the  first  place, 
the  lady  is  not  the  person  she's  supposed  to  be. 
She's  the  daughter  of  an  old  friend  of  mine  ;  I  once  in- 
tended to  marry  her,  but  .  .  .  I  thought  better  of 
it.  Circumstances  which  you  will  be  fully  informed  of 
have  led  to  her  personating  the  Marana  —  name  and 
all  —  the  coming  season.  It's  a  grand  secret,  of 
course,  and  I  selected  you  as  the  only  woman  who 


100  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

could  be  trusted  to  keep  it.  Scores  of  people  — 
young  fellows,  mostly  —  will  be  applying  to  you 
for  information  about  her,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
You  are  to  confirm,  in  every  way  that  suggests  itself, 
the  idea  that  she  is  the  bona-fide  Marana ;  say 
you've  lived  with  her  for  years  in  Europe,  and  so  on. 
But  she  is  wholly  ignorant  of  the  world,  and  you 
are  to  see  to  it  that  none  of  the  young  fellows  get 
ahead  of  her.  You  may  invent  all  the  adventures 
you  like  for  her,  —  in  the  past ;  but  on  no  account 
let  her  get  into  any  scrapes  in  the  present.  Do  you 
see  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  You  intended  to  marry  her ;  but 
you  thought  better  of  it !  That  means,  I  take  it, 
that  the  young  fellows  you  speak  of  are  to  be  kept 
out  of  the  way  for  your  sake  rather  than  for  hers  ; 
and  she  is  to  be  instructed  that  any  scrape  she  gets 
into  with  you  is  no  scrape  at  all,  but  a  distinction 
and  a  blessing.  Yes ;  I  might  instance  myself  in 
proof  of  it !  " 

w  Upon  my  soul,  I  should  flatter  myself  you  were 
jealous  if  I  didn't  know  you  so  well,"  said  Jocelyn, 
with  a  laugh  ;  r  I  only  wish  to  protect  the  girl  from 
annoyance,  and  to  insure  the  success  of  the  whole 
scheme.  As  to  marrying  her,  my  main  object  was. 
of  course,  to  repair  my  finances,  so  you  would  have 
been  indirectly  the  gainer,  even  by  that.  But  they've 
lost  their  money,  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  Your 


MADE   PLEASANT  AND    EASY.  101 

suspicions  haven't  a  leg  to  stand  on,  rny  dear  Meg  ; 
and  if  they  had,  what  would  be  the  odds  to  you?" 
"  None  whatever,  I  assure  you.  But  I  shall  not 
allow  you  to  think  you  are  hoodwinking  me.  You 
should  have  known  better  than  to  fancy  that ;  with 
the  life  I  have  behind  me,  I  haven't  learned  that 
nothing  is  to  be  got  for  nothing  in  this  world.  You 
are  foregoing  the  only  privilege  of  persons  in  our 
situation,  of  being  perfectly  frank  with  each  other. 
It's  against  your  own  interest,  too.  If  you  could 
make  me  believe  in  your  disinterestedness  and  virtue 
the  only  result  would  be  that  I  should  serve  you  less 
efficiently  than  otherwise.  But  you  always  liked 
deception  for  its  own  sake,  and  you  are  the  same 
Hamilton  Jocelyn  that  I  knew  in  Richmond  twelve 
years  ago.  Well,  then,  let  us  put  it  that  the  best 
way  to  keep  her  free  from  the  attentions  of  other 
men  is  to  let  it  be  supposed  that  she  is  specially  in- 
clined to  you  ;  and  that  it  is  to  be  no  one's  business 
but  your  own  »how  nearly  the  supposition  approaches 
the  truth.  Then  I  shall  know  what  tone  to  take 
Avith  her." 

"  Take  any  tone  you  like,  in  the  devil's  name,  so 
long  as  you  take  the  position  and  observe  the  con- 
ditions!"  exclaimed  Jocelyn,  getting  up,  with  some 
signs  of  impatience. 

"I  will  take  the  position,  on  condition  of  being 
guaranteed  my  outfit  and  twelve  hundred  dollars," 


102  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

said  Mrs.  Bemax.  "It  is  not  high  wages  for  the 
devil  to  pay,  but  it's  better  than  nothing ;  and  to 
live  as  comfortably  as  I  can,  so  long  as  I  do  live,  is 
the  best  I  have  to  look  forward  to  now.  I'm  not  so 
fastidious  in  other  respects  as  you  do  me  the  honor  to 
imagine." 

"Well,  Meg,  you  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it, 
that's  a  fact ;  and  it's  no  wonder  if  you  are  a  little 
bit  cantankerous  after  it  all.  But  when  you've  en- 
joyed a  few  months'  luxury,  you'll  take  a  more  genial 
view  of  things,  I  hope,  —  and  of  me,  among  the  rest. 
Here's  a  bank-note  for  your  present  necessities. 
Come  to  Inigo's  office  to-morrow  afternoon.  I'llbe 
there  ;  and  you  can  secure  whatever  guarantees  you 
want.  Above  all  things,  make  as  good  an  impression 
on  the  lady  as  possible ;  and  no  one  can  make  a 
better  impression  than  you,  when  you've  a  mind  to. 
She  must  learn  to  confide  in  you,  and  to  take  your 
advice  in  all  social  matters  from  the  outset.  You 
can  do  anything  with  her,  if  she  likes  you  and  trusts 
you,  and  nothing  if  she  doesn't." 

"  I  understand ;  I  am  to  be  another  mother  to 
her!  "said  Margaret  Bemax,  in  a  tone  and  with  a 
look  in  her  eyes  so  quiet,  and  yet  so  repellent,  that 
Jocelyn  made  no  attempt  to  reply,  but  took  his  leave 
without  further  ceremony,  and  was  half  minded, 
when  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  to  go  back 
and  cancel  the  whole  arrangement.  But  when  one 


MADE   PLEASANT  AND    EAST.  103 

has  half  a  mind  to  do  a  thing,  the  other  half  of  his 
mind  generally  carries  the  day.  Besides,  Margaret's 
bark  had  always  been  worse  than  her  bite  ;  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  find  another  woman  so  well  suited  for 
the  position;  and  she  could  do  no  further  harm  to 
Beatrix  than  to  initiate  her  into  the  ways  of  the 
world,  which,  after  all,  the  girl  would  have  to  learn 
somehow.  Moreover,  Jocelyn  had  means  of  con- 
trolling Margaret  more  completely  than  a  stranger ; 
and,  finally,  it  was  a  great  point  in  the  direction  of 
comfort  to  have  the  woman  provided  for,  and,  in 
that  respect,  off  his  hands.  She  had  been  very  irk- 
some to  him  for  several  years  past,  and  especially  of 
late.  It  was  a  prudent  and  an  expedient  stroke  of 
business,  from  whichever  side  regarded ;  so,  let  well 
alone  !  And  Jocelyn  slammed  the  street-door  behind 
him,  and  strode  jauntily  down  the  street,  with  the 
feeling  that  he  was  both  a  shrewd  mlan  and  a 
benevolent  one,  and  that  luck  lay  before  him. 
Nevertheless,  that  phrase,  "Be  another  mother  to 
her,"  recurred  to  his  memory  when  he  saw  Beatrix, 
a  few  hours  later,  and  gave  him  a  qualm.  To  men 
of  his  sort  the  way  a  thing  is  put  makes  a  great 
deal  of  difference. 

Certainly,  Beatrix  needed  a  mother  at  this  epoch 
of  her  career.  The  peculiar  conditions  under  which 
she  was  making  her  entrance  into  the  world  rendered 
her  especially  defenceless.  She  was  not  only  igno- 


104  BEATRIX   BANHOLPH. 

rant  (as  any  girl  brought  up  in  the  seclusion  of  home 
is  likely  to  be)  of  the  ways  and  wickedness  of 
mankind,  but  the  strict  necessity  of  her  incognito 
cut  her  off  from  the  support  and  society  both  of  her 
father  and  of  all  the  other  relatives  and  friends  who 
should  naturally  be  around  her.  It  is  a  serious  step 
for  any  one  to  surrender  personal  identity ;  and 
Beatrix  had  not  only  done  this,  but  she  had  assumed 
the  identity  of  a  person  whose  nature,  character,  and 
antecedents  were  at  all  points  alien  from  her  own. 
She  was  not  herself,  and  she  was  somebody 
wholly  different  from  -  herself  as  well.  Further- 
more she  was  a  singer,  with  all  the  sensitiveness  and 
the  liability  to  emotional  impressions  that  the  musical 
temperament  implies.  No  section  of  the  community 
need  social  protection  more,  and  receive  less  of  it, 
than  those  endowed  with  the  genius  of  music.  The 
cool  reasonableness  and  deliberation,  which  are  the 
best  safeguards  against  folly  and  dissipation,  are 
precisely  the  qualities  in  which  the  passion  and  sym- 
pathetic abandon  of  their  art  render  them  most 
deficient.  The  excitement  of  musical  inspiration, 
and  the  alluring  halo  with  which  it  invests  persons 
and  things,  dazzle  and  distort  the  moral  judgment. 
Children  in  impulsiveness,  in  vanity,  and  in  lack  of 
self-restraining  and  regulating  power,  musicians  are 
mature  only  in  those  respects  where  a  strong  curb 
upon  the  natural  instincts  is  most  needed.  Their 


MADE    PLEASANT  AND    EASY.  105 

predicament  is  pathetic,  and  its  difficulties  are  en- 
hanced by  the  fact  that  the  traditions  and  habits  of 
the  profession  offer  so  little  encouragement  and 
example  to  moral  orthodoxy.  The  feeling  that  the 
world  is  ignorant  of  their  peculiar  temptations,  or 
underestimates  them,  promotes  the  persuasion  that 
they  are  victims  of  injustice,  and  thereby  confirms 
the  evil  that  it  discovers.  Music,  in  its  higher  and 
purer  aspects,  is -perhaps  the  divinest  of  the  arts; 
but  there  are  scoundrels  in  all  departments  of  human 
activity,  and  musical  scoundrels  are  second  in  de- 
pravity to  none.  Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  a 
young  woman  can  select  no  career  more  dangerous 
than  that  upon  which  Beatrix  had  just  entered ; 
and  the  external  circumstances  which  attended 
her  entrance  could  scarcely  have  been  more  un- 
toward. 

At  present,  however,  the  current  of  her  life  was 
too  full  of  hurry  and  strangeness  to  admit  of  her 
holding  grave  communion  with  herself;  and  she  was 
probably  not  disposed  to  take  a  discouraging  view 
of  the  situation.  She  did  not  much  believe  in  prac- 
tical evil.  Good  people  without  experience  are  of 
much  the  same  persuasion  with  bad  people  with  ex- 
perience—  namely,  that  all  the  rest  of  the  world  is 
more  or  less  like  themselves.  Besides,  the  buying  of 
pretty  dresses,  the  study  of  costumes  for  the  stage,  the 
tumult  and  novelty  of  her  environment,  and  the  queer 


106  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

variety  of  persons  who  met  her  and  talked  to  her, 
could  not  but  be  pleasant  to  a  young  woman  whose 
emotional  and  intellectual  capacity  was  so  large 
as  hers,  and  whose  opportunities  of  getting  in  contact 
with  the  world  had  hitherto  been  almost  non-exist- 
ent. It  was  very  different  from  what  she  had  ex- 
pected, but  it  was  too  real  and  too  rapid  not  to  be 
agreeable.  It  made  her  feel  vividly  that  life  con- 
tained vast  possibilities,  and  that  she  was  now  at  the 
beginning  of  them.  The  noise  and  crowd  of  the 
streets  excited  her.  The  ugliness,  the  beauty,  and 
the  immensity  of  the  city  fascinated  her.  The 
sumptuousness  of  her  suite  of  rooms  at  the  hotel, 
the  civilized  and  sagacious  despatch  of  the  service 
and  organization,  the  brisk  familiarity  with  things 
unfamiliar  to  her  which  every  one  else  evinced  ;  the 
sensation  of  a  multitude  of  other  lives  going  on  in 
immediate  proximity  to  her  own,  which  had  till  now 
been  so  secluded,  — all  these  things  aroused  and 
stimulated  her.  All  seemed  like  something  that 
could  not  last,  —  an  uproar  and  scurry  merely  tempo- 
rary, presently  to  subside  once  more  into  the  country- 
peace  and  solitude,  which  were  still,  to  her,  the  nor- 
mal condition  of  things.  But  we  forget  the  past 
even  faster  than  we  learn  the  present ;  and,  sooner 
than  she  imagined,  the  city  would  seem  natural  to 
her,  and  the  country  strange. 

Meantime,  the  subject  most  constantly  present  to 


MADE   PLEASANT  AND    EAST.  107 

her  thoughts,  since  it  gave  color  to  everything  else, 
was  her  assumed  character  of  the  Marana.  She 
soon  perceived  that  she  had  not  ascribed  adequate 
importance  to  this  matter.  It  divorced  her,  so  to 
'speak,  from  herself,  in  so  much  that  she  could 
scarcely  venture  to  think  her  own  thoughts  lest  they 
should  betray  that  she  was  not  Marana,  but  Beatrix. 
To  be  herself  began  to  appear  in  the  light  of  some- 
thing criminal.  Everything  depended  upon  main- 
taining the  deception.  It  was  not  a  bit  of  holiday 
make-believe,  like  the  quaint  assumptions  with  which 
children  amuse  themselves,  but  a  hard  and  anxious 
piece  of  work,  admitting  of  no  variation  or  inter- 
mission. Her  difficulty  was  increased  by  the  fact 
that  she  had  no  idea  what  sort  of  a  person  the  Ma- 
rana was,  and  could  not,  therefore,  throw  herself 
dramatically  into  the  character.  At  most  she  could 
only  attempt  to  construct  an  imaginary  personality 
from  observing  what  other  people  seemed  to  expect 
from  her.  But  their  expectations  were  neither  very 
intelligible  nor  very  consistent ;  and  not  seldom  there 
was,  in  the  manner  of  those  who  addressed  her,  the 
insinuation  of  something  vaguely  offensive.  The 
latter  phenomenon  perplexed  her.  She  had  always 
been  treated  as  a  lady,  and  had  probably  never  con- 
ceived the  possibility  of  being  treated  otherwise  ;  and 
she  did  not  know  whether  to  refer  the  behavior  of 
these  persons  to  something  wrong  in  herself,  or  in 


108  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

them.  She  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  ask 
information  of  Mr.  Jocelyn. 

"Fellows  bother  you,  do  they?"  said  that  gen- 
tleman, in  answer  to  her  complaint,  with  a  reassur- 
ing smile.  "Well,  ma'mselle,  you  know  we  mustn't 
be  too  particular  about  that.  When  we  have  been 
on  the  stage  a  little  longer,  we  bhall  learn  to  look 
upon  all  men  as  our  brothers,  and  not  mind  a  little 
fun.  Besides,  you  know,  you  are  the  famous  and 
invincible  Marana,  and  are  supposed  to  be  able  to 
settle  all  such  Jack-a-dandies  with  one  hand,  so  to 
speak !  " 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Beatrix,  with  a 
slight  flush. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  the  amount  of  it  all  is,  they 
mean  no  harm,  and  they've  heard  so  many  stories 
about  the  Marana's  adventures,  that  they  feel  justi- 
fied in  trying  to  find  out  what  she's  made  of.  The 
fact  is,  you  know,  she's  said  to  be  a  little  hazarde,  — 
dangerous,  —  as  soon  ruin  a  man  as  look  at  him ; 
and  you  must  act  out  the  character." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  should  pretend  to  be  any- 
thing that  is  not  —  good  ?  " 

"Oh!  no,  no  —  not  that,  of  course!  Only  a 
sort  of  give-and-take,  live-and-let-live  style,  — that's 
what  you  want." 

"  If  they  think  I  am  different  from  what  I  am,  in. 
any  bad  way,"  continued  Beatrix,  "I  will  either  tell 


MADE   PLEASANT  AND   EASY.  109 

them  who  I  am,  or  give  up  the  whole  thing."     Her 
voice  trembled. 

"Now,  my  good  little  prima  donna,  don't  you 
say  anything  so  foolish !  "  said  Jocelyn,  taking  her 
hand  in  his  and  patting  it.  "  Come,  you  know  me, 
don't  you  ?  and  you  know  whether  or  not  Hamilton 
Jocelyn  would  permit  any  one  to  insult  you  ?  Very 
well,  then ;  you're  as  safe,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst,  as  if  you  were  sealed  up  in  the  centre  of  the 
pyramid  of  Cheops  !  But  what  I  want  you  to  learn 
is  to  have  courage, — to  hold  your  own  bravely; 
and  not  to  be  too  squeamish  about  what  the  people 
you  meet  with  say  and  do.  The  world  always  seems 
queer  and  a  little  disagreeable  when  one  is  first 
brought  in  contact  with  it, — full  of  people  not  a  bit 
like  our  quiet  folks  out  in  the  country.  But  we 
can't  change  the  world,  can  we?  All  we  can  do  is 
to  take  things  as  they  are,  and  make  the  best  of  it. 
If  we  are  all  right  nothing  can  really  hurt  us.  But 
we  must  have  courage,  we  mustn't  be  afraid,  we 
mustn't  talk  of  giving  up !  We  must  be  a  little 
woman  of  the  world.  Every  woman  must  be,  who 
intends  to  accomplish  anything,  let  alone  to  make 
such  a  reputation  as  lies  before  you.  It's  a  little 
freemasonry  we  all  have  to  learn,  nothing  more ; 
and,  as  I  said,  though  you  won't  love  me  —  naughty 
child  !  —  yet  you  can't  help  trusting  your  father's  old 
friend ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  you  will  come  to 


110  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

me  if  you  get  into  any  real  scrape.  I  shall  be  only 
too  ready  to  assist  you ;  but  I  don't  want  to  seem 
officious  either  to  you  or  to  others  ;  and  I  want  you 
to  fight  your  own  way  as  much  as  possible  at  first. 
It  will  make  it  all  the  easier  for  you  hereafter. 
Don't  let  yourself  be  put  upon,  of  course  ;  but  don't 
altogether  forget  that  you're  the  Marana,  either. 
If  you  manage  it  cleverly  her  name  ought  to  be  a 
help  to  you,  rather  than  the  contrary." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  sharper  the  fight  the  sooner  over,  you 
know,  and  the  more  decisive,"  said  Jocelyn,  laugh- 
ing. "Yes,  it  is  an  advantage  in  every  way.  If 
you  were  entered  in  the  lists  in  your  own  name,  with 
your  father  and  all  your  friends  to  fall  back  on,  you 
would  be  falling  back  all  the  time ;  you  would  be 
trusting  to  their  strength  instead  of  to  your  own. 
But  since  you're  alone,  you'll  discover  your  own 
force,  and  make  it  evident  to  the  others  into  the  bar- 
gain." 

"  But  will  not  papa  live  in  the  hotel  with  me  ?  " 

"My  gracious,  no!"  exclaimed  Jocelyn,  lifting 
his  hands  in  half-playful  consternation.  "In  the 
eyes  of  the  world,  remember,  he's  nothing  but  a 
respectable  old  gentleman,  in  no  sort  of  way  related 
to  you.  To  have  him  in  attendance  on  you  would 
be  most  —  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  inexpedient ;  and  if 
it  led  to  nothing  else,  it  might  lead  to  his  true  rela- 


MADE  PLEASANT  AND  EASY.     HI 

tionsbip  being  found  out.  No ;  you  may  see  him 
occasionally,  of  course,  but  on  the  same  footing  as 
any  other  chance  acquaintance.  Ha,  ha!  You 
wouldn't  want  to  compromise  your  own  father, 
would  you  ?  —  not  to  speak  of  being  compromised  by 
him !  " 

"Well,  I  certainly  am  alone !"  said  Beatrix, 
gravely. 

"In  appearance,  yes;  but  so  long  as  Hamilton 
Jocelyn  is  alive  you'll  have  an  unfailing  resource." 

"I  should  compromise  you,  as  well,"  said  she, 
looking  at  him  fixedly.  He  made  a  laughing  ges- 
ture of  depreciation. 

"Oh,  don't  be  afraid  of  that!  I'm  known ; 
everybody  understands  me  !  We  can  do  no  possible 
harm  to  each  other.  It's  an  understood  thing  that 
I  stand  godfather  to  all  prime  donne  on  their  entry 
into  New  York  society.  You  may  safely  refer  to 
me  as  an  old  friend  on  all  occasions.  And,  by  the 
by,  I've  taken  the  liberty  to  do  you  a  bit  of  service 
already.  You  need  a  companion,  and  I've  been  so 
lucky  as  to  secure  just  the  person.  She's  an 
English  lady,  daughter  of  a  clergyman  ;  I've  known 
her  for  years ;  an  excellent  creature  ;  really  a  lady 
of  great  refinement  and  experience,  and  pre- 
cisely suited  to  your  needs.  She  will  take  perfect 
care  of  you,  and  keep  you  posted  about  everything 
you  ought  to  do,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  have 


112  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH '. 

let  her  into  the  secret ;  the  only  other  persons  who 
know  it  being  your  father,  Inigo,  and  myself.  The 
idea  is,  of  course,  that  she's  been  living  with  you  on 
the  Continent,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Madame 
Bemax.  She'll  be  here  to-morrow  morning.  You'll 
be  certain  to  like  her  immensely." 

"Well,  what  must  be,  must,  I  suppose,"  said 
Beatrix,  folding  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  looking 
down.  "It  does  seem  hopeless  to  think  of  going 
back,  now  I  have  come  so  far.  But  if  I  had  un- 
derstood beforehand."  .  .  .  She  paused,  but 
went  on  after  a  moment :  "  I  seem  to  be  living  in 
the  midst  of  falsehoods,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  that 
is  more  likely  to  take  away  courage  than  to  give 
it." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  things  will  very  soon  shake  down, 
and  then,  in  everything  but  name,  you  can  be  more 
yourself  than  you  ever  were  before  !  "  returned  her 
father's  old  friend,  encouragingly. 

The  next  day  Madame  Bemax  was  introduced, 
and  was  very  genial,  helpful,  and  agreeable. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    FEW     WORDS     ABOUT     THE     CADWALADER 
DINSMORES. 

OOCIETY  is  a  good  thing,  and  so  is  the  great 
^  Republic  ;  but  there  are  obstacles  in  the  way  of 
driving  them  successfully  to  the  same  vehicle.  Good 
society  is  easily  defined  and  recognized  in  Europe  ; 
but  how  to  draw  the  line  in  America  ?  Is  there  no 
good  society  there ;  or  is  it  not,  rather,  true  that 
every  social  circle  is  good  society,  at  least  in  its  own 
eyes  ?  It  can  hardly  be  denied,  however,  that  no  par- 
ticular circle  of  society  is  universally  acknowledged  by 
the  other  circles  to  be  Good  Society  par  excellence. 
There  is  one  society  of  wealth,  another  of  literature, 
another  of  politics,  others  of  other  denominations, 
each  with  its  leader  or  two,  and  each  'secretly  or 
openly  turning  up  its  nose  at  the  rest.  Segments 
of  these  various  circles  doubtless  overlap  each  other, 
to  some  extent ;  but  there  is  no  rule  about  it.  Hence 
the  amiable  bewilderment  of  the  foreigner  and  the 
satires  of  the  domestic  prophet.  In  London  you 
may  begin  at  the  bottom  and  proceed  to  the  top,  or 


114  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

vice  versa,  and  know  just  where  you  are  at  every 
step  of  the  journey  ;  but  omniscience  itself  could  not 
do  as  much  in  Xew  York.  The  end  of  it  is  that 
you  make  a  few  friends  or  acquaintances,  and  are 
glad  whenever  you  happen  to  meet  them.  The  rest 
of  the  time  you  wander  at  hap-hazard. 

This  necessity  for  standing  upon  one's  own  in- 
dependent basis  as  regards  social  procedure  fre- 
quently results  in  standing  still  and  doing  nothing. 
In  the  absence  of  any  recognized  authority  to  give 
the  word  to  inarch,  and  no  one  wishing  to  run  the 
risk  of  marching  alone,  nobody  marches  at  all. 
How  shall  our  dinner-table  be  arranged?  What 
is  the  polite  rule  as  to  making  and  receiving 
calls  ?  What  sort  of  clothes  shall  we  put  on  ?  Will 
it  be  the  proper  thing  to  invite  this  or  that  person  ? 
"Thus  and  so  is  the  way  it  is  managed  in  England," 
exclaims  the  person  who  has  been  there.  "What 
have  we  in  America  got  to  do  with  that  ?  "  retorts 
the  independent  and  untravelled  native.  "  We  have 
no  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales  here,  and  you 
don't  expect  us  to  be  governed  from  Buckingham 
Palace,  do  you  ?  "  What  rejoinder  can  be  made  to 
such  questions  ?  Beyond  a  doubt,  this  is  the  land 
of  liberty,  where  every  one  has  a  right  to  be  afraid 
to  do  anything,  either  from  ignorance,  or  lest  they 
should  be  taunted  with  obeying  foreign  etiquette,  or 
lest  they  should  be  accused  of  not  obeying  it.  Fi- 


CADWALADER    DINSMOBES.  115 

nally,  in  desperation,  each  one  does  whatever  comes 
into  his  head ;  and  still  we  are  not  happy.  But  we 
are  consoled  by  the  assurance  of  the  observer  that 
"this  is  a  transition  period."  Let  us  hope  the 
period  will  not  develop  into  a  full-stop. 

Practically,  after  all,  the  predicament  is  not  so 
bad  as  logical  deduction  would  lead  us  to  suppose. 
Occasionally  there  are  awkward  pauses,  and  vacancies, 
but  not  always  ;  and,  though  we  may  feel  embarrassed 
at  the  moment,  we  are  amused  afterward.  "We  tell 
ourselves  that  it  does  not  make  much  difference,  and 
that,  if  we  are  liable  to  make  mistakes,  our  friends 
are  liable  not  to  be  aware  of  it.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  there  was  a  week  during  which  New  York 
sat  waiting  in  considerable  suspense  to  be  informed 
whether  or  not  it  were  going  to  "receive"  the 
renowned  Mademoiselle  Marana,  of  St.  Petersburg 
and  other  European  capitals  ;  or  whether  it  were 
simply  going  to  listen  to  her  from  across  the 
footlights,  and  rely  for  its  further  knowledge  of  her 
upon  the  reports  of  the  male  sex,  and  of  the  news- 
papers. In  this  crisis  a  champion  was  needed,  and, 
greatly  to  the  public  relief,  he  appeared.  It  became 
known  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cadwalader  Dinsinore 
were  asking  people  to  dinner  and  a  reception,  to 
meet  Mademoiselle  Marana. 

Now,  the  Cadwalader  Dinsmores  are  people  such 
as  can  exist  (as  a  social  fact)  nowhere  but  in 


116  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

America,  and,  indeed,  in  New  York.  Mr.  Dins- 
more  (called  TVallie  Dinsmore  by  every  one  who 
knows  him)  is  a  man  of  paramount  though  unob- 
trusive usefulness."  He  is  —  or,  for  the  sake  of  the 
unities,  let  us  say  he  was  — a  gentleman  of  medium 
size,  plain  exterior,  and  remarkable  quietness  of 
speech  and  demeanor.  He  was  like  the  heart  of 
peace  in  the  midst  of  the  fashionable  social  whirl- 
wind :  the  undemonstrative  centre  of  all  demonstra- 
tions, the  reposeful  culmination  of  all  activities.  To 
say  that  he  knew  everybody  and  everything,  not 
only  that  everybody  else  knew,  but  that  everybody 
else  would  like  to  know,  but  imperfectly  expressed 
his  accomplishments.  He  lived  in  New  York ;  but 
he  was  at  home  in  all  countries  and  in  all  societies, 
and  occasionally  was  met  with  in  all.  He  was 
about  forty-two  years  of  age,  but  looked  younger, 
having  light  hair  and  a  subdued  reddish  complexion  ; 
and  he  seemed,  when  you  considered  his  experience 
and  serenity,  indefinitely  or  in  fact  infinitely  older. 
He  had  unexceptionable  manners,  was  genial,  kindly, 
gently  humorous,  and  insensibly  entertaining.  He 
never  was  detected  making  an  effort,  and  he  never 
forbore  an  effort  to  be  obliging.  He  was  as  accurate 
as  a  pendulum,  and  as  versatile  as  a  continent. 
He  could  neither  play,  sing,  act,  make  a  speech, 
write  a  book,  nor  paint  a  picture ;  but  no  one 
knew  better  than  he  how  all  these  things  ought  to  be 


CADWALADER    DINS  MORES.  H7 

done,  or  was  more  sympathetically  appreciative  of 
others'  attempts  to  do  them.  He  smiled  easily,  but 
always  as  if  he  could  not  help  it ;  his  laugh  was  a 
low,  contagious  chuckle,  and  seemed  to  suggest  an 
unexpected  charm  and  drollery  in  life.  There  was 
a  manly,  masculine  look  and  quality  about  his  plain 
face  and  ordinary  figure,  and  in  the  tone  and  utter- 
ance of  his  voice ;  you  felt  that  there  was  substance 
in  him,  when  required,  — that  he  was  by  no  means  a 
phantom  of  conventions  and  escapades, — that,  when 
everything  else  had  been  eliminated  from  him,  a 
gentleman  would  remain.  ]\  lean  while,  his  most 
prominent  traits  (if  anything  in  such  a  character 
can  be  termed  prominent)  were  composure  and 
sanity.  He  was  so  sane  as  to  lead  some  friend  of 
his  to  conjecture  that,  were  he  to  walk  through  the 
Ward's  Island  Lunatic  Hospital,  in  at  one  door  and 
out  at  the  other,  the  patients  would  all  straightway 
regain  their  reason.  Yet  Wallie  Dinsmore  had 
his  own  crotchets,  his  prejudices,  and  his  hobbies. 
He  could  not  bear  all  round,  clerical  collars,  and 
always  wore  one  that  opened  out  generously  in  front, 
like  a  cordial  greeting.  He  hated  to  make  formal 
calls,  and  would  exhaust  ingenuity  itself  in  courte- 
ously evading  them.  He  was  very  fond  of  making 
unique  collections ;  almost  all  the  books  in  his 
large  and  valuable  library  had  the  autograph  of 
their  authors  in  them ;  he  had  specimens  of  all  the 


118  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

prints  that  ever  were  made  of  Charles  First,  of  Mira- 
beau,  of  Voltaire,  of  Rajah  Brooke,  of  Goethe,  of 
Mary  Wollstonecraft,  and  a  dozen  others.  He  had 
photographs  of  (I  was  going  to  say)  all  the  people 
he  knew ;  at  all  events  they  formed  a  quadruple 
belt  of  physiognomies  round  his  large  study.  Other 
collections  were  of  the  drinking-cups,  pipes,  canes, 
and  paper-knives,  that  had  belonged  to  various 
distinguished  personages ;  from  the  gas-jet  over  the 
writing-table  depended  the  black  velvet  skull-cap  once 
worn  by  the  learned  Porson ;  and  beside  the  fireplace 
reposed  a  dilapidated  pair  of  slippers,  which  had  for- 
merly encased  the  feet  of  ....  But  enough  of 
such  catalogues.  These  accumulations  were  not 
inanimate,  mechanically  amassed  hoards,  but  they 
were,  so  to  speak,  permeated  and  lived  through 
every  day  by  the  human  sympathy  and  apprehension 
of  their  collector.  They  were  a  part  of  his  organism. 
As  might  be  surmised,  his  interest  was  not  confined 
to  human  or  inanimate  objects;  he  had  pets,  —  for 
instance,  an  African  lemur,  and  a  great  white  owl, 
without  exception  the  ghostliest  and  most  appall- 
ing wild-fowl  ever  seen  in  the  corner  of  a  dusky 
room.  Wallie  seemed  to  spend  a  great  deal  of 
time  in  this  study  of  his,  and  yet  he  found  time  to  be 
in  a  great  many  other  places.  His  friends  were 
never  contented  not  to  have  him  at  their  dinner- 
tables,  where  he  had  not  the  appearance  of  talking 


CADWALADER    DIN  SHORES.  119 

much,  but  somehow  enabled  every  one  else  present 
to  discourse  his  best.  He  was  a  great  favorite  with 
women  and  with  children,  and  his  relations  with  the 
former  were  just  as  cordial  and  simple  as  with  the 
latter.  If  you  dropped  in  to  see  him  during  a  morning 
you  were  sure  to  find  a  number  of  men  whom  it  was 
particularly  worth  while  to  meet,  sitting  about  in 
the  easy-chairs,  and  smoking  Wallie's  famous  cigars 
and  cigarettes.  He  had  a  fine  old-fashioned  house 
down  in  West  Twenty-third  street,  and  plenty  of 
money,  which  he  knew  how  to  spend :  that  is,  he 
was  both  generous  and  economical. 

But  the  most  remarkable  thing  about  Wallic 
Dinsmore  was  that,  instead  of  being  in  fact  the 
bachelor  uncle  of  society  that  he  was  in  spirit,  he 
was  actually  and  conspicuously  married.  Mrs. 
Cadwalader  Dinsmore  (they  never  called  her  Mrs. 
Wallie)  was  a  few  years  older  than  her  husband, 
and  weighed  about  fifty  pounds  more  than  he. 
She  was  mighty  and  imposing,  convincing,  and 
memorable.  Upon  her  massive  countenance, 
which  had  the  texture  and  hue  of  the  finest  pink- 
and-white  enamel,  was  fixed  immutably  a  gracious 
smile,  which  served  to  condense,  as  it  were,  into 
manageable  dimensions  the  else  too  ponderous 
acreage  of  her  cheeks,  and  to  refine  the  contours 
of  her  scarlet  lips.  Her  hair,  of  a  dense  yellow 
hue,  without  a  thread  of  gray,  was  arranged,  in  an 


120  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

inscrutable  manner,  upon  what  might  be  termed  the 
cylindrical  principle ;  it  resembled  a  carving  in 
varnished  maple;  it  looked  brittle.  As  for  her 
figure,  Mrs.  Cadwalader  might  have  stood  for  the 
capstan  of  a  three-decker,  round  which  the  jovial 
seamen  trip  as  they  heave  the  mighty  anchor.  Her 
voice,  meanwhile,  was  small,  soft,  and  caressing, 
and  she  regarded  her  interlocutor  with  a  glance  of 
indulgent  coquetry,  as  if  to  mitigate  the  terror  of 
her  proportions,  though  it  really  rendered  them  only 
more  alarming.  Nor  was  her  usual  talk,  as  might 
have  been  expected,  about  devouring  quarter-beeves, 
or  causing  earthquakes,  or  obliterating  populations  ; 
but  about  embroidered  handkerchiefs,  and  summer 
zephyrs  blowing  on  wild-roses,  and  the  holiness  of 
infants'  slumber.  Was  she,  then,  a  sardonic 
humorist;  or  a  fool  buried  alive  in  flesh?  Ko, 
she  was  a  hard-headed,  practical,  shrewd  woman, 
with  sharp  eyes,  a  politic  disposition,  and  unrelent- 
ing determination.  On  meeting  you  for  the  first 
time,  she  would  make  up  her  mind  whether  you 
could  be  of  use  to  her,  in  which  case  she  would 
cultivate  you ;  or  whether  you  were  likely  to  be  an 
obstacle,  in  which  case  she  would  take  measures  to 
do  away  with  you ;  or  whether  you  were  neither 
one  thing  nor  the  other,  in  which  case  she  would  let 
you  alone.  As  she  had  much  knowledge  of  average 
human  nature,  and  was  an  acute  judge  of  character, 


CADWALADER    DINSMORES.  121 

she  seldom  made  mistakes  or  was  discomfited.  She 
wag  spoken  of  as  a  person  who  did  a  great  deal  of 
good,  and  with  whom  it  was  well  to  be  on  good 
terms.  In  fact,  she  recognized  the  policy  of  kind 
actions,  prudently  dispensed  and  unobtrusively  ad- 
vertised ;  and  she  could  effect  a  good  deal  toward 
hindering  or  promoting  the  social  success  of  persons 
who  had  not  already  secured  it ;  for  she  had  what 
merchants  call  extensive  connections,  and  she  was 
correspondent  of  one  or  two  influential  journals. 
The  fact  that  she  was  not  of  aristocratic  or  indeed 
discoverable  lineage  may  have  sharpened  her  claws, 
so  to  speak,  and  steeled  her  heart ;  she  had  had  to 
fight  her  own  way,  and  was  a  little  too  much  alive 
to  the  value  of  the  worldly  objects  she  had  striven 
for.  The  most  telling  success  she  had  ever  scored 
was,  of  course,  her  marriage  with  Wallie  Dinsmore. 
How  she  contrived  it  is  not  known ;  but  it  must 
have  been,  in  every  sense,  easier  to  embrace  her 
fifteen  years  ago  than  now.  Wallie  was  the  most 
humane  of  mankind,  generously  appreciative  of 
everything  except  his  own  value.  At  any  rate, 
the  thing  took  place,  and  Mrs.  Cadwaladcr  proved 
to  be  an  admirable  and  substantial  wife.  The 
treasures  of  friendship  and  good-will  which  had 
come  to  Wallie  as  freely  and  spontaneously  as  the 
airs  of  heaven,  and  which  he  had  received  only  to 
return  threefold,  she  regarded  as  so  much  solid 


122  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

social  capital,  which  she  invested  at  good  interest. 
In  course  of  time  she  established  a  salon,  to  which 
it  was  a  sort  of  privilege  to  be  admitted ;  it  gave 
you  the  cachet,  —  in  other  words,  you  could  hence- 
forth allude  to  your  familiar  acquaintance  with 
various  distinguished  persons,  whom  you  were  in 
the  habit  of  meeting  at  the  Cadwalader  Dinsmores'. 
Meanwhile  Mrs.  Cadwalader  displayed  much  tact 
and  sagacity  in  her  treatment  of  her  husband. 
She  msde  war  upon  none  of  his  hobbies  ;  she  broke 
up  none  of  his  habits ;  she  sacrificed  none  of  his 
bachelor  friends ;  she  kept  out  of  his  way  except 
when  she  could  be  of  use  to  him,  and  then  she 
was  always  ready.  She  made  him  pay,  as  the  ver- 
nacular hath  it,  but  she  let  it  cost  him  nothing. 
In  short,  though  she  and  her  husband  had  almost 
no  tastes  or  traditions  in  common,  they  were  com- 
pletely in  harmony,  had  no  children,  and  were  a 
model  of  New  York  domestic  virtue,  happiness,  and 
prosperity.  It  is  no  small  thing  for  a  husband  to 
be  able  to  affirm  that  his  wife  has  not  had  his  study 
dusted  for  a  week,  nor  launched  even  an  oblique 
criticism  at  his  African  lemur. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HOW   THEY    ENTERTAINED   THE   NEW   DIVA. 

T "FAYING  made  up  their  minds  to  extend  the 
J — *-  right  hand  of  hospitality  to  Mile.  Marana,  it 
was  incumbent  upon  the  Dinsmores  to  make  her  a 
call,  and  they  did  so  accordingly,  Mrs.  Cadwalader 
going  in  person,  and  Wallie  (as  a  matter  of 
course)  in  the  shape  of  his  name  written  on  a 
piece  of  pasteboard.  The  diva's  acceptance  hav- 
ing been  secured,  the  other  invitations  were  issued, 
and  the  day  arrived. 

"  You  will  have  to  put  in  an  appearance,"  said 
Wallie  to  Geoffrey  Bellingham,  during  the  previous 
week.  "  You  built  the  opera-house,  and  decency 
demands  it." 

"  The  more  reason  why  not, "the  architect  replied. 
"  I  should  have  to  be  introduced,  and  I  don't  care 
for  it." 

"You  will  have  to  come,"  the  other  repeated, 
calmly.  "Do  you  want  the  woman  to  be  dis- 
respectable  ?  " 

"It's  none  of  my  business." 

"It  is.     A  woman  is  what  her  associates  are.     If 


124  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

respectable   people   don't  receive  her,  they  are   to 
blame  if  she  cuts  up." 

"  If  she  were  a  novice  —  but  she's  notorious  !  " 
"You  affect  Phariseeism  in  imitation  of  your 
Puritan  ancestors.  But  this  poor  girl  is  neither  a 
witch  nor  a  Quaker.  Her  notoriety  comes  from 
her  genius, — the  rest  is  mere  hearsay,  which  it's 
none  of  your  business  to  attend  to.  I  intend  that 
she  shall  leave  New  York  without  a  spot  on  her 
reputation,  and  you  must  bear  a  hand.  Otherwise, 
you're  not  the  fellow  I  took  you  for."  Wallie  knew 
Bellingham  better,  and  had  more  influence  over  him 
than  any  one  else ;  and  the  end  of  it  was  that 
Bellingham  consented  to  come. 

There  were  less  than  twenty  persons  at  the  dinner. 
The  dining-room  walls  were  of  a  soft  Indian-red 
hue,  the  wood-work  being  mahogany  and  maple. 
The  flowers  on  the  table  were  yellow  and  blue. 
The  room  was  lighted  by  tinted  wax  candles,  each 
provided  with  a  little  colored  shade.  Everything 
looked  cool,  fresh,  and  sweet.  The  host  and  hostess 
received  their  guests  in  the  adjoining  drawing-room. 
By  previous  arrangement,  Mile.  Marana  and  Mrs. 
Bemax  were  the  first  to  arrive.  The  diva  was 
dressed  in  something  white,  of  a  lithe  and  feathery 
effect,  giving  the  impression  of  a  beautiful  great 
bird.  Her  heart  was  up,  for  this  was  her  first 
irre vocable  step  in  her  assumed  personality.  She 


THE    NEW  DIVA.  125 

was  a  high-spirited  girl,  and  having  entered  upon 
her  course,  she  had  laid  aside  fear  and  irresolution. 
Whatever  she  did,  she  would  do  with  her  might. 
Such  a  vision  of  purity  and  loveliness  as  she  was  did 
not  often  enter  a  New  York  drawing-room.  She 
gave  her  hand  first  to  Mrs.  Cadwalader,  and  then  to 
Wallic.  The  latter  grasped  it  cordially,  and  seemed 
about  to  say  something,  but  suddenly  checked  him- 
self, and  looked  at  her  with  an  odd,  perplexed  ex- 
pression, like  a  man  who  is  taken  by  surprise. 
Doubtless,  so  much  beauty  would  be  a  surprise  to 
any  one.  After  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  said, 
"I'm  glad  to  welcome  you  to  this  country,  mad- 
emoiselle. I  hope  you  will  learn  to  feel  like  an 
American  as  much  as  you  already  look  like  one." 

"  Thank  you  ;  if  it  is  American  to  feel  happy,  then 
I  am  one,"  she  answered ;  and  it  was  observable, 
as  she  spoke,  that  this  foreign  lady's  pronunciation 
was  remarkably  accurate.  Wallie  forbore  to  make 
the  observation,  however ;  he  only  took  his  chin 
between  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  with  a  quietly 
smiling  look. 

Mrs.  Cadwalader  said,  "What  delicious  lace, 
Mademoiselle  Marana !  It  is  like  frost-work  on 
ivory.  Will  you  take  a  cup  of  tea?" 

Mile.  Marana  declined,  and  presently  the  other 
guests  began  to  arrive. 

There  was  Mr.  Barcliffe,  a  wool  merchant,  but 


126  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

for  social  purposes  an  amateur  composer.  He  was  a 
small,  slender,  lively  man,  with  gray  hair  and  an 
immense  gray  mustache,  like  a  great  bar  across  the 
lower  part  of  his  face ;  he  had  the  air  of  always 
standing  on  tiptoe  to  peep  across  this  bar  with  a 
sportive,  twinkling  expression.  There  was  Mr. 
Bidgood,  a  rosy,  roystering,  spherical  personage, 
bald-headed  and  short  of  breath ;  he  smiled  at  you 
with  a  penetrating  look,  as  if  there  were  a  private 
joke  between  you  and  himself  which  it  would  not  do 
to  mention.  There  was  Mr.  Grasmere,  tall,  courtly, 
and  romantic,  with  a  resonant  voice  and  an  occa- 
sional gleam  from  beneath  his  upper  eyelids,  as  if 
his  soul  were  kindling  within  him.  He  had  been  a 
lawyer  by  profession,  but  had  married  well,  and  was 
now  the  proprietor  of  an  artistic  weekly.  There  was 
Mr.  Knight,  a  distinguished  politician,  with  fresh 
complexion,  clear-cut  features,  powerful  black  eyes 
and  snow-white  hair ;  his  bearing  was  covertly  con- 
descending, as  though  he  were  reluctant  to  have  you 
realize  how  greatly  he  was  your  superior.  There  was 
Mr.  Damon,  also  white-haired  and  white-bearded,  a 
someAvhat  unsuccessful  publisher,  but  gifted  with  a 
warm  heart,  a  keen  wit,  and  a  bitter  tongue.  There 
was  a  certain  unconventional  wrath  and  heat  about 
him,  mixed  with  laughter  and  mockery,  and  nothing 
seemed  to  delight  him  so  much  as  to  shock  a  fastid- 
ious person,  or  to  bully  a  humbug.  There  was  Mr. 


THE   NEW  DIVA.  127 

Plainter,  a  gentleman  all  profile  and  eye-glasses,  with 
a  grating  voice,  a  retentive  memory,  and  an  insatia- 
ble earnestness.  He  was  president  of  the  American 
branch  of  the  Society  for  the  Scientific  Investigation 
of  Supernatural  Phenomena,  and  his  normal  condition 
was  one  of  high  argument  and  exposition.  He 
spoke  of  himself  as  "  we,"  and  of  the  rest  of  the 
world  as  "  you  "  —  imparting  to  that  pronoun  an  in- 
tonation significative  of  bigotry  and  prejudice.  His 
neck  projected  forward,  and  his  figure  was  thin  and 
curved  like  the  new  moon.  There  was  Mr.  Beau- 
fort, once  a  clergyman,  now  an  actor,  a  large-headed, 
small-bodied  man,  with  a  big  nose  and  deep-set  eyes  ; 
extremely  graceful  and  deliberate  in  his  attitudes 
and  gestures ;  wearing  in  repose  an  expression  of 
thoughtful  melancholy,  as  if  reflecting  that  he  had 
been  a  clergyman ;  but  brightening  (when  addressed) 
with  a  smile  of  almost  excessive  sweetness,  as  if  re- 
membering that  he  was  an  actor.  Such  of  these 
gentlemen  as  possessed  wives  were  accompanied  by 
them,  but  the  latter  were  for  the  most  part  like  the 
engravings  of  ladies  in  fashion  papers  :  though  their 
faces  might  be  pretty,  it  was  the  dresses  you  looked 
at  and  recollected.  When  an  American  lady  is  dis- 
tinguished at  all,  she  is  apt  to  appear  almost  too 
much  so.  Not  to  mention  the  hostess  of  the  evening, 
there  were,  for  example,  Mrs.  March,  of  the  Women's 
Political  Association,  sliin,  erect,  holding  her  elbows 


128  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

close  to  her  sides,  with  a  tight  business  mouth  and 
yearning  melancholy  eyes  ;  possessing  an  insufferable 
command  of  language,  enhanced  by  a  faculty  of 
seeming  to  repress  more  than  she  uttered; — Miss 
Korner,  of  German  extraction,  with  short  sandy 
hair,  pale  prominent  eyes,  a  snub  nose,  and  protrud- 
ing jaw  ;  her  volubility  was  as  great  as  that  of  Mrs. 
March,  and  her  rapidity  greater ;  but  whereas  the 
former  lady's  conversation  was  mainly  explanatory 
and  argumentative,  Miss  Korner's  was  interrogatory 
and  anecdotical ; — Mrs.  Bright,  a  beauty,  the  wife  of 
a  wealthy  brewer,  holding  herself  as  if  she  were  on 
horseback,  rushing  at  a,  topic  or  an  enterprise  as  if  it 
were  a  five-barred  gate,  and  forgetting  it  the  next 
moment,  headstrong,  enthusiastic,  blase;  she  had 
embraced  Herbert  Spencer  during  the  last  season, 
and  reproduced  him  in  jets  and  sparkles; — Mrs. 
'  Musgrave,  the  dramatic  reader.  .  .  .  But  why  con- 
tinue? The  peculiarity  of  New  York  society  is 
that  no  two  people  are  alike ;  you  have  to  focus 
yourself  anew  for  every  person  you  meet;  whereas, 
abroad,  the  difficulty  is  to  distinguish  Mr.  Smith 
from  Mr.  Brown,  and  Mrs.  Jones  from  Mrs. 
Robinson.  People  there  seem  to  be  born,  bred, 
and  moulded  in  platoons ;  the  various  social  grades 
each  have  the  same  traditions,  the  same  prospects, 
the  same  resources,  the  same  topics  of  conversa- 
tion, the  same  tailors,  and  the  same  faces.  But 


THE    NEW  DIVA.  129 

in  New  York  we  have  not  settled  down  yet ;  our 
people  have  what  may  be  called  a  New  York  look,  but 
there  is  no  New  York  type,  —  the  former  being  a 
trick  of  facial  expression  merely ;  the  latter,  a  matter 
of  feature  and  structure.  But  we  are  preparing  to 
people  a  hemisphere,  while  the  European  nations 
have  to  pack  themselves  together  like  sardines  in  a 
box,  or  pickles  in  a  jar,  mathematically,  economi- 
cally, and  irrevocably,  and  by  natural  selection  have 
long  since  lost  their  elbows  and  idiosyncrasies.  We 
are  all  elbows  on  this  side  of  the  water,  especially 
since  we  have  ceased  any  longer  to  be  all  fists  and 
shoulders. 

In  addition  to  the  guests  above  mentioned  there 
were  several  of  our  older  acquaintances,  —  General 
Inigo,  Hamilton  Jocelyn,  and  Bellingham.  When 
dinner  was  announced,  Wallie  Dinsmore  took  in 
Mile.  Marana  and  seated  her  at  his  right  hand,  and 
it  turned  out  that  Bellingham  sat  next  below  her, 
much  to  his  displeasure.  He  told  himself  that  he 
owed  Wallie  one.  On  the  other  side  of  him  sat 
Mrs.  Bright,  whom,  indeed,  he  had  taken  in  to 
table.  The  other  gentlemen  thought  that  Belling- 
ham had  nothing  to  complain  of.  Mrs.  Bright,  who 
could  interest  herself  about  almost  anything,  pro- 
vided it  did  not  last  more  than  an  hour  or  so, 
noticed  that  her  companion  was  good-looking,  and 
determined  to  exploit  him  on  the  subject,  of  archi- 


130  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

tecture.  She  had  read  Ruskin's  "  Stones  of 
Venice,"  and  had  seen  classic  and  mediaeval  antiqui- 
ties abroad.  Accordingly  she  rode  at  him  with  great 
dash  and  .courage,  and  at  first  he  answered  her 
graciously  enough.  Before  long,  however,  he 
perceived  that  she  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  her 
own  information,  and  then  he '  became  laconic. 
Young  Mrs.  Bright,  on  the  other  hand,  was  not 
accustomed  to  rebuffs,  and  Bellingham's  reticence 
only  stimulated  her  enterprise.  She  sparkled  on 
like  a  cataract  in  a  rainbow,  determined  that  he 
should  fall  in  love  with  her  at  any  rate.  Meanwhile 
his  other  ear  was  being  visited  occasionally  by  the  low 
and  varied  music  of  a  voice,  the  freshest  and  most 
melodious,  he  thought,  that  he  had  ever  listened  to. 
At  times,  too,  as  the  dishes  were  passed,  the  lovely 
speaker  would  lean  toward  him,  so  that  her  soft 
white  plumage  brushed  his  shoulder.  The  Marana 
and  Wallie  were  having  a  most  entertaining  conver- 
sation ;  it  was  not  about  architecture,  and  yet 
Bellingham  felt  attracted  by  it.  Wallie  was  smiling 
and  chuckling,  and  ever  and  anon  making  some 
pithy  or  arch  remark ;  the  diva  seemed  to  be 
attempting  to  describe  the  mental  visions  which 
certain  kinds  of  music  called  up  for  her.  At  last 
she  said :  "  The  end  is  like  '  the  awful  rose  of 
dawn ' ;  and  it  seems  to  keep  unfolding  more  and 
more ;  but  the  twilight  darkens  between,  and  you 


Tf/TT 


THE   NEW  DIVA.  131 

can  only  feel  that  the  great  flower  blooms  at  last  in 
the  morning  of  the  other  world." 

At  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Bright  was  saying  to 
Bellingham,  "In  that  way,  don't  you  see,  the  second 
and  third  boxes  would  have  just  as  good  a  view  of 
the  stage  as  the  first,  and  yet  the  parquet  wouldn't 
lose  anything.  Now,  isn't  that  a  nice  plan?" 

Either  Bellingham  had  not  heard  her,  or  else  he 
didn't  think  it  worth  while  to  answer.  He  turned 
to  the  young  diva  and  said,  "That  must  be 
Beethoven." 

Wallie's  eyebrows  went  up ;  he  had  been  quietly 
watching  Bellingham,  and  had  been  much  amused 
by  his  evident  distraction  and  final  surrender.  He 
asked  Mr.  Knight,  in  the  second  seat  on  his  left, 
whether  it  were  true  that  Grant  intended  to  found  a 
college  of  politics  in  Mexico ;  and  left  the  young 
people  to  arrange  themselves  as  they  liked. 

Mrs.  Bright  turned  pale,  took  up  a  silver  pepper- 
box, and  overwhelmed  her  croquette  de  volaille 
with  red  pepper.  Blinded  by  her  indignation,  she 
was  on  the  point  of  putting  a  piece  of  the  highly 
condimented  viand  in  her  mouth,  when  General 
Inigo,  who  was  on  her  left,  and  who  had  been 
assimilating  his  nourishment  with  knife,  fork,  and 
forefinger,  and  vast  enjoyment  of  champing  and 
deglutition,  hurriedly  set  down  the  glass  of  sherry 
he  was  raising  to  his  lips,  and  with  great  good- 


132  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

»r 

nature  arrested  the  young  lady's  hand  by  laying  his 
own  fat  paw  upon  it.  "  My  dear  madam,"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  his  unctuous  Hebraic  drawl,  "would 
you  commit  suicide  at  a  table  like  this  ?  " 

"Oh,  I'm  awfully  obliged,"  returned  Mrs.  Bright, 
really  feeling  so  on  more  accounts  than  one,  though 
she  had  never  before  been  able  to  endure  that  horrid 
free-and-easy  impressario  ;  she  overcame  her  repug- 
nance, and  recouped  herself  for  Bellingham's  scant 
courtesy  by  extracting  whole  hogsheads  of  it  from 
the  ample  reservoirs  of  her  other  neighbor.  After 
all,  it  amounted  to  the  same  thing.  So  a  woman 
receives  attention,  it  is  small  odds  whence  it  comes. 

Bellingham  and  the  diva,  meantime,  had  taken  a 
short  cut  to  a  mutual  understanding,  and  would 
have  been  astonished,  had  they  stopped  to  think 
about  it,  at  the  vistas  of  sympathetic  feeling  that 
were  opening  up  before  them.  Sunshine  arose  on 
their  way,  and  they  rambled  onward  at  their  will. 
To  talk  with  the  prima  donna  on  a  subject  that 
attracted  her  was  like  drawing  harmonies  from  some 
exquisite  instrument.  She  responded  to  the  lightest 
touch,  and  you  could  see  the  promise  and  invitation 
of  music  in  her  face  before  you  spoke.  Bellingham 
forgot  that  this  was  the  woman  whose  adventures  and 
audacities  everybody  had  been  discussing  for  weeks 
past ;  she  was  to  him  a  delicious  outlet  for  a  part  of 
his  nature  which  he  had  heretofore  repressed  even 


THE   NEW  DIVA.  133 

when  by  himself;  so  the  seed  first  discovers  itself  in 
the  earth,  and  the  flower  in  the  sunlight.  When, 
half  an  hour  ago,  he  had  been  presented  to  Mile. 
Marana  in  the  drawing-room,  he  had  felt  that  she 
was  beautiful,  but  remembered  that  she  must  be 
repellent,  and  had  passed  on  without  a  second  look. 
She,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  sensitive  to  his 
hostility,  told  herself  that  he  looked  cross  and  frigid, 
and  thought  it  fortunate  that  he  was  an  architect, 
instead  of  a  singer,  liable  to  appear  with  her  on  the 
stage.  But  now,  under  the  mingled  persuasion  of 
happy  accident  and  the  genial  stimulus  of  lights, 
company,  and  the  table,  their  averted  regards  had 
unawares  turned  to  accord,  —  an  accord  which 
might  prove  temporary,  but  was  certainly  delightful. 
It  was  strange  to  both  of  them,  but  with  the  sort  of 
strangeness  that  seems  like  a  sweet  familiarity  till 
now  forgotten.  Now  they  would  let  air  and  warmth 
into  the  secret  chambers  of  their  minds ;  now  they 
could  read  the  answer  to  -their  spiritual  riddles  in 
each  other's  faces. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  table  Mrs.  Cadwalader 
was  prospering  blithesomely  with  Mr.  Grasmere  on 
one  hand  and  Mr.  Barclyffe  on  the  other ;  the  con- 
versation was  of  an  aesthetic  cast :  would  the  Wag- 
nerian  method  of  musical  composition  prevail,  and 
if  so,  would  not  music  ultimately  be  chargeable  with 
infringing  on  the  preserves  of  the  other  arts  ?  Mr. 


134  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

Barclyffe,  propping  up  his  mustache  occasionally 
with  his  napkin,  was  of  opinion  that  music  was  the 
soul  and  reconciliation  of  all  the  arts,  and  that  a 
knowledge  of  music  would  henceforth  be  indispensa- 
ble to  enable  the  painter,  the  sculptor,'  and  the  poet 
to  do  their  work  intelligently.  "  As  to  architecture," 
added  he,  "we  all  know  that,  in  its  higher  manifesta- 
tions, it  has  been  termed  frozen  music."  — "  Some  of 
Wagner's  music  that  I  have  heard,"  retorted  Mr. 
Grasmere,  "  was  dry  enough  to  be  called  harmonized 
hay-lofts."  This  epigram  was  overheard  by  Mr. 
Damon  at  the  centre  of  the  table,  and  he  immedi- 
ately called  out,  "There's  a  portrait  of  Grasmere 
down  at  the  club  that  is  said  to  have  been  painted  to 
the  tune  the  old  cow  died  of."  Hereupon  Mr. 
Bidgood  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh,  and  observed 
that  the  old.  cow  probably  died  from  feeding  on  the 
harmonious  hay-loft.  Mr.  Grasmere,  who  was 
probably  of  Scotch  extraction,  drew  himself  up  to 
his  full  height,  and  said  to  Mrs.  Cadwalader,  with  a 
gleam  from  beneath  his  eyelids,  that  such  men  as  the 
last  two  speakers  did  more  than  vice  or  ignorance  to 
delay  civilization.  Mrs.  Cadwalader  smiled  with 
scarlet  lips  and  said  in  her  small,  caressing  voice, 
"  The  proprietor  of  the  *  Professional  Amateur ' 
cannot  believe  that  civilization  is  delayed." 

If  there  were  any  further  danger  of  a  breach  of 
the  peace,  it  was  averted  by  the  action  of  Wallie, 


THE    NEW  DIVA.  135 

who  now  arose  in  his  place  and  proposed  the  health 
of  the  guest  of  the  evening.  "  Though  our  guest  to- 
night," he  said,  "she  is  a  host  in  herself;  and  if  she 
was  born  in  a  foreign  land,  we  all  know  that  some 
of  the  truest  Americans  have  never  set  foot  in  the 
'United  States."  The  toast  having  been  drunk  with 
much  cordiality,  Wallie  added  :  "  I  learnt  that  speech 
by  heart,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  that  is  where  it 
came  from." 

When  the  applause  had  subsided,  there  was  a 
pause,  and  the  prima  donna  perceived,  with  a  beat- 
ing heart,  that  everybody's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her, 
as  if  expecting  a  reply.  She  cast  a  dismayed  look 
at  Bellingham,  but  his  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  an 
expression  of  coldness  had  suddenly  overspread  his 
face.  She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  rose,  with  a  soft 
rustle  of  her  white  dress,  and  glanced  down  the  table. 
She  heard  the  clapping  of  hands,  and  saw  Jocelyn 
smiling  and  nodding  encouragingly,  and  Inigo  ham- 
mering the  table  and  beaming  unctuously.  The 
thought  passed  through  her  mind,  "lam  not  myself; 
they  arc  applauding  some  one  else."  Instead  of  dis- 
concerting her,  this  thought  gave  her  self-possession. 
"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  she  began,  "I  did  not  learn 
a  speech ;  where  I  came  from  we  did  not  make  them. 
Some  time  I  shall  sing  you  my  thanks.  But  I  feel, 
now,  how  kind  you  are.  A  little  while  ago,  I  knew 
nothing  of  you,  and  now  we  are  friends  !  Your  be- 


136  BEATRIX    RANDOLPH. 

v 

lief  in  me  will  help  me  to  deserve  it.     All  this  seems 

hardly  real  to  me,  —  as  if  it  were  not  possible.  It 
is  not  I  who  speak  to  you,  but  the  music,  that  is  the 
reason  of  my  being  here.  And  yet  I  should  like  to 
have  you  like  me  for  myself,  —  else  I  should  feel  very 
lonely.  I  have  only  my  music  to  take  the  place  of 
my  mother  and  my  father.  It  is  a  great  deal,  I 
know,  but  not  quite  everything.  And  I  cannot  help 
feeling,  almost,  as  if  it  stood  between  me  and  you. 
It  is  a  disguise  that  I  must  wear,  and  I  know  that 
the  disguise  is  better  than  what  is  beneath  it."  Here 
her  eye  happened  to  encounter  Jocelyn's.  He  was 
gazing  at  her  apparently  in  much  anxiety,  and  his 
lips  seemed  to  be  forming  some  voiceless  words .  The 
prima  donna  did  not  know  what  he  meant,  but  she 
stopped,  and  reflected  that  she  was  thinking  aloud, 
instead  of  making  a  speech,  and  that  what  she  was 
thinking  had  more  reference  to  the  blue-eyed  man 
with  the  brown  beard,  who  sat  on  her  right,  than  to 
any  one  else  in  the  room ;  whereupon  a  blush  rose  to 
her  face,  she  murmured  something  hardly  articulate, 
and  sat  down.  Everybody  smiled  and  applauded 
and  seemed  to  be  much  pleased. 

"  My  God,  what  an  actress  !  "  muttered  Mr.  Beau- 
fort to  his  neighbor,  Mrs.  March.  "The  delicious 
audacity  of  that  last  sentence  was  inimitable  !  " 

"  She  must  be  very  clever,"  returned  the  lady, 
veiling  her  business  mouth  with  the  bouquet  she  car- 


THE    NEW  DIVA.  137 

ried ;  "but  how  very  noticeable  her  foreign  accent 
is!" 

"  Ach  !  well,  my  dear,  it  has  been  a  long  time  be- 
fore I  could  come  to  dalk  so  as  one  would  not  know 
I  was  German,"  put  in  Miss  Korner,  charitably. 
"Mademoiselle  shpeak  very  well  for  a  beginner." 

"  They  say  the  Russiana  are  a  very  superstitious 
people,"  remarked  Mr.  Plainter,  putting  up  his  eye- 
glasses ;  "  I  must  remember  to  ask  Miss  Marana 
whether  she  has  ever  investigated  any  of  the  phenom- 
ena. She  looks  like  a  medium  herself;  I  should 
like  to  investigate,  under  rigorously  scientific  tests, 
the  range  and  quality  of  her  abnormal  capacities." 

"  Since  meeting  Mademoiselle  Marana,"  said  Mr. 
Knight,  addressing  Wallie,  but  graciously  pitching 
his  voice  so  as  to  be  overheard  by  the  diva,  "I  no 
longer  marvel  at  Russian  despotism.  I  should  be  a 
slave  myself  were  I  her  countryman,  —  nay,  my 
slavery  has  begun  even  as  it  is  ! " 

"By  George !  old  fellow,"  whispered  Jocelyn 
aside  to  the  General,  "hanged  if  I  didn't  think  for 
a  moment  the  girl  was  going  to  give  us  away ! " 

"Don't  you  believe  it,"  the  General  mumbled  in 
reply.  "She  aint  going  to  give  us  away,  nor  give 
herself  away,  neither,  —  not  to  you,  anyhow,  and 
don't  you  forget  it ! " 

The  dinner  came  to  an  end,  the  ladies  withdrew, 
and  the  gentlemen  presently  followed  them  to  the 


138  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

drawing-room.  People  were  already  arriving  for  the 
reception,  and  the  room  was  getting  crowded.  A 
number  of  immaculate  young  gentlemen,  in  tight- 
fitting  evening-dress,  were  reaching  over  their  shirt- 
collars  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  notorious  Marana. 
There  was  an  unintermittent  buzz  of  talk  that  made 
it  difficult  to  hear  anything  that  was  said.  The 
ladies  were  numerous  and  brilliantly  dressed,  but 
many  of  them  looked  a  little  uneasy,  as  if  they  sus- 
pected they  were  assisting  at  a  somewhat  hazardous 
enterprise.  The  prima  donna  wore  on  her  breast 
a  locket  set  with  diamonds  that  had  belonged  to  her 
mother. 

"Say,  "Witman,"  said  one  of  the  young  gentlemen 
above  mentioned  to  another,  "did  you  notice  the 
locket?" 

"Haven't  been  able  to  get  up  to  her  yet,  confound 
it !  Does  she  speak  English?" 

"Pretty  well,  I  believe  ;  I  spoke  French  Avith  her. 
Full  of  the  devil !  " 

"What  about  the  locket?" 

"  Given  to  her  by  the  Czar  of  Russia,  before  he 
came  into  the  business." 

-  "By  Jove  !  Say,  does  a  fellow  have  to  be  intro- 
duced, or  can  you  go  right  up  and  talk  to  her?  " 

"Oh,  sail  in !  She  won't  mind.  These  women 
always  like  to  be  taken  by  storm  ! "  So  Mr.  Wit- 
man struggled  forward,  to  try  his  luck  as  a  stormer. 


THE    NEW  DIVA.  139 

Bellingham,  after  wandering  about  restlessly  in 
the  crowd,  trying  to  keep  his  back  turned  toward  the 
diva,  and  finding  himself,  nevertheless,  constantly 
brought  up  within  a  few  feet  of  her,  at  length  made  up 
his  mind  to  go  home.  But,  just  as  he  was  on  the 
point  of  bidding  adieu  to  Mrs.  Cadwalader,  some  one 
struck  a  chord  on  the  piano,  a  hush  fell  upon  the 
assembly,  and  it  became  evident  that  the  Marana 
was  going  to  sing.  And  there  she  stood  at  the  piano, 
the  pure  loveliness  of  her  countenance  looking  across 
the  crowd,  and  looking  at  him.  He  folded  his  arms, 
and  stood  still ;  and  no  one  but  he  knew  that  she  sang 
to  him. 

When  the  song  was  over  there  was  a  great  stir  of 
admiration  and  surprise  and  comment ;  for  though 
everybody  had  expected  something  very  good,  no- 
body seemed  to  have  anticipated  that  it  would  be  good 
precisely  in  the  way  it  was ;  and  they  all  tried  to 
express  what  they  thought  in  suitable  language,  with 
indifferent  results.  It  takes  the  world  some  time  to 
formulate  its  opinion  accurately  about  a  new  thing. 
As  for  Bellingham,  whatever  he  may  have  thought, 
he  expressed  nothing.  He  simply  pushed  his  way 
through  the  throng  that  surrounded  the  singer,  took 
her  hand,  looked  her  in  the  eyes,  and  said,  "Good- 
night ! "  Strange  to  say,  this  unceremonious  be- 
havior seemed  to  satisfy  her ;  a  glow  of  pleasure 
mounted  to  her  face,  and  thereafter  she  appeared 


140  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

light-hearted  and  content.  Bellingham  went  away 
immediately  afterward,  and  without  saying  good- 
night to  any  one  else. 

At  the  end  of  the  evening,  Jocelyn  sauntered  up 
to  Wallie,  and,  putting  both  hands  on  his  host's 
shoulders,  said,  "  Well,  old  man,  what  do  you  think 
of  her?" 

"I  think  a  great  deal,"  Wallie  replied.  "You 
saw  her  abroad,  didn't  you?" 

"Xo,  the  General  did.     Why?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Wallie,  quietly  fixing  his  gray 
eyes  upon  the  other's  dismayed  visage,  "except  that 
I  saw  Mademoiselle  Marana  last  year  in  Vienna, 
and  I  think  her  greatly  improved." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HER   FRIENDS,  HER    ENEMIES,    AND   HER   LOVERS. 

"YTTITIIIX  the  next  few  days  everybody  in  New 
York  could  quote  a  more  or  less  authoritative 
opinion  as  to  the  merits  of  Mile.  Marana ;  for  the 
guests  at  the  Dinsmores'  dinner  and  reception  had 
been  so  selected  that  their  various  reports  could 
reach  all  sections  of  polite  society.  The  verdict,  on 
the  part  of  both  sexes,  was  almost  universally  favor- 
able, and  every  one,  consequently,  made  prepa- 
rations to  extend  further  invitations  to  her.  The 
only  noteworthy  dissentient  voice  was  that  of  Mrs. 
Bright,  who  affirmed  that  the  great  prima  donna 
was  underbred  and  presuming.  Even  this  critic, 
however,  admitted  that  she  had  redeeming  traits. 

"  In  her  proper  place  she  is  very  well.  She  is  a 
professional  singer ;  and,  though  she  is  very  profes- 
sional, she  is  really  a  very  good  singer,  too." 

Mr.  Barclyffc,  the  amateur  composer,  contributed 
an  able  article  to  a  leading  journal,  in  which  he  at- 
tempted to  assign  Mile.  Marana  her  place  among  the 
great  singers  of  the  last  forty  years. 

"  To  the  culture,  the  vivacity,  and  the  subtlety  of 


142  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

the  present,"  he  wrote,  "our  Russian  guest  unites 
the  training,  the  knowledge,  and  the  solidity  of  the 
past.  Rooted  in  the  soil  of  the  best  traditions  of 
her  predecessors,  the  flower  of  her  genius  blossoms 
in  the  new  sunshine  of  to-day.  The  grandeur  and 
dignity  of  her  method  are  vivified  and  sweetened  by 
rare  personal  charms  of  manner,  and  by  that  seeming 
artlessness  of  execution  which  is  the  finest  triumph 
of  art.  Her  appearance  among  us  is  another  proof, 
not  only  of  the  reputation  which  we  of  the  Western 
World  have  attained  of  being  the  final  tribunal  in 
matters  of  musical  taste  and  judgment,  but  of  the 
great  fact  that  real  genius  is  always  unique.  Mile. 
Marana  recalls  no  other  singer ;  she  is  herself !  and 
to  say  this  is  (as  those  who  have  heard  her  will 
testify)  to  pay  her  the  highest  compliment.  She 
does  not  accentuate  an  epoch, —  she  makes  one.  Of 
her  dramatic  capacities  we  have  yet  to  judge  ;  but, 
simple  and  unassuming  as  is  her  bearing  in  private 
society,  it  is  easy  for  the  initiated  to  discern,  in  the 
grace,  effectiveness,  and  precision  of  her  gestures  and 
carriage,  the  results  of  that  long  training  upon  the 
stage,  and  command  of t  its  resources,  which  alone 
can  make  the  poetry  of  movement  a  second  nature. 
Our  only  misgiving  is,"  added  the  writer,  "that  the 
ordinary  repertoire  of  operas  may  fail  to  afford  Mile. 
Marana  an  adequate  opportunity  for  the  manifes- 
tation of  her  powers.  While  yielding  to  none  in  our 


FRIENDS,   ENEMIES,  AND   LOVERS.       143 

reverence  and  admiration  for  the  operatic  productions 
of  the  great  composers,  from  Mozart  to  Wagner,  we 
may  be  permitted  to  wish  that  some  new  work  might 
be  forthcoming,  essentially  modern  in  its  scope  and 
quality,  and  thereby  answering  more  completely  to 
the  requirements  of  modern  culture.  It  would 
indeed  be  a  matter  of  congratulation  were  such  a 
work  to  claim  an  American  origin  ! " 

Those  who  knew  the  authorship  of  this  article 
made  merry  over  the  pero ration  ?/and  inquired  archly 
whether  Barclyffe  had  at  last  found  somebody 
capable  of  appreciating  his  musical  accomplishments. 
But  by  the  majority  it  was  accepted  with  becoming 
docility ;  and  the  impressario,  it  is  needless  to  say,  was 
enchanted  with  it.  The  allusions  to  the  Marana's 
familiarity  with  the  stage  were  especially  grateful  to 
him. 

"I'll  just  tell  you  how  it  is,"  he  said  to  Jocelyn ; 
"  you  play  off  a  little  game  on  the  public,  and  you 
feel  nervous  because  there's  one  or  two  weak  points 
in  it.  Well,  sir,  by  Jupiter !  those  weak  points  are 
just  the  very  ones  the  public  swallows  the  quickest. 
Now,  here's  this  girl,  —  she  can  sing;  we  all  know 
that ;  but  she's  a  born  American,  and  she's  never 
been  on  the  stage.  Well,  sir,  there  was  old  Lu- 
cretia  March,  at  the  dinner,  who  said  she  could 
hardly  understand  her  on  account  of  her  Russian 
accent ;  and  now  Barclyffe  comes  out  and  swears  she 


144  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

must  have  been  born  behind  the  footlights  !  The 
next  thing'll  be,  we  shall  have  some  woman  turning 
up  and  vowing  the  Marana  has  run  off  with  her 
husband  and  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  ! " 

"Are  you  aware,  Moses,"  inquired  his  friend, 
"  that  Wallie  Dinsmore  has  seen  the  real  woman  in 
Vienna,  and  knows  this  one  to  be  a  fraud?" 

The  General  set  down  the  cocktail  with  which  he 
was  about  to  celebrate  his  good  fortune.  "Are 
you  lying,  or  what's  the  matter?"  he  demanded, 
brusquely. 

"  I  had  it  from  the  man  himself,  you  old  black- 
guard," rejoined  the  other,  composedly. 

"  Does  he  know  who  this  one  is  ?  " 

"If  he  doesn't,  he  probably  will  before  long." 

The  General  reflected.  At  last  he  said,  "  Well,  I 
aint  scared.  What  should  he  make  a  row  for  ?  It 
aint  going  to  hurt  him,  and,  what's  more,  he's  taken 
up  the  girl  himself.  It  may  tickle  him  to  find  out 
the  facts,  but  he  aint  a  fellow  to  talk.  If  it  was 
you,  now,  I  might  want  to  buy  you  off;  but  he's 
another  sort."  And  General  Inigo  tossed  off  his 
cocktail  with  renewed  serenity. 

"I'll   bet    you   you're   mistaken,"    said   Jocelyn. 

"  I  don't  bet  with  you,  my  good  friend,"  replied 
the  impressario,  shaking  his  head  and  chuckling  sar- 
donically. "  I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,  though," 
he  added,  after  a  moment.  He  took  from  his 


FRIENDS,  ENEMIES,  AND  LOVERS.       145 

pockets  a  check-book  and  a  Mackinnon  pen,  and 
wrote  a  check,  which  he  showed  to  Jocelyn.  It  was 
for  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  was  drawn  to  Jocelyn's 
order. 

"You  can  have  that  check,"  said  Inigo,  "and  be 
fingering  the  bank-notes  in  half  an  hour  from  now, 
on  one  condition." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Jocelyn. 

"  On  condition  that  you  take  yourself  out  of  the 
whole  business,  and  leave  me  to  deal  with  the  girl 
direct.  It's  a  damned  shame,  by  Jupiter,  that  you 
should  be  putting  thirty  per  cent,  of  her  money  into 
your  pocket  every  time  she  sings,  and  making  her 
think  I  pay  her  that  much  less  than  I  do.  I'll  buy 
you  out  for  ten  thousand  dollars,  cash  down,  to-day, 
and  take  the  risk  of  her  bursting  up,  and  everything 
else.  I'm  talking  money,  —  that's  what  I'm  doing; 
and  there  it  is  !  Will  you  do  it  ? " 

"  You  may  go  to  the  devil ! "  said  Jocelyn,  pushing 
back  the  check-book,  though  not  without  an  effort. 
"  I'll  have  you  to  know  that  money's  not  the  only 
thing  I'm  after.  I've  got  my  own  views  about  the 
girl,  and  I'll  manage  the  business  my  own  way." 

The  impressario  detached  the  check  from  the  book, 
and,  having  rolled  it  into  an  allumette,  lit  his  cigar 
with  it.  "That's  all  right,"  said  he,  crushing  the 
burnt  remnant  under  his  foot,  "  only  don't  you  talk 
to  me  no  more  about  betting !  I  know  a  man  when 


146  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

I  clap  eyes  on  him  ;  and  I  know  a  woman,  too  ;  and 
I  guess  you'll  have  time  to  grow  to  be  a  bigger 
rascal  than  you  are,  before  you  rope  in  my  prima 
donna!  She's  meat  for  your  betters,  my  boy,  and 
they're  not  far  to  look  for  !  " 

Jocelyn  contrived  to  maintain  a  contemptuously 
indifferent  demeanor ;  but  it  is  qertain  that  whoever 
made  money  out  of  the  impressario  was  obliged  to 
earn  it,  in  one  way  or  another. 

Meanwhile,  Miss  Beatrix  Randolph,  or  the 
Marana,  as  all  the  world  now  called  her,  was  in 
more  cheerful  spirits  than  she  had  been  before  her 
reception  at  the  Dinsmores.  She  liked  the  Dins- 
mores  ;  she  was  inclined  to  like  almost  everybody. 
She  tried  to  take  a  charitable  view  even  of  the  young 
gentlemen  in  high  shirt-collars  who  complimented 
her  so  baldly,  and  said  things  which  she  knew  were 
witty  only  because  they  laughed  at  them.  She  re- 
flected that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  freemasonry  of 
modern  society,  and  that  probably  the  young  gentle- 
men intended  only  to  be  polite  and  entertaining. 
Mrs.  Bemax,  when  appealed  to  on  the  subject,  said 
they  —  Mr.  "VVitman  and  the  rest  of  them  —  were 
wealthy  and  well  connected,  and  that  it  was  desir- 
able for  a  lady  connected  with  the  stage  to  cultivate 
their  acquaintance.  "  A  little  social  relaxation  is  an 
excellent  thing  for  you,  my  dear  mademoiselle," 
declared  this  worthy  lady,  "  and  a  capital  way  to  get 


FRIENDS,   ENEMIES,   AND   LOVERS.       147 

rid  of  that  little  frigidity  and  stiffness  you  have 
brought  with  you  from  the  country.  Ladies  con- 
nected with  the  stage  have  to  work  hard,  but,  en 
revanche,  they  are  allowed  more  freedom  in  social 
intercourse  than  other  people.  It  will  be  quite 
proper  for  you  to  let  Mr.  Witman  drive  you  home 
from  rehearsal  in  his  brougham,  if  I  am  along,  —  or 
even  without  me,  at  a  pinch.  All  the  others  do  it. 
You  will  not  let  him  take  any  liberties,  of  course ; 
but  don't  betray  any  timidity ;  he  wouldn't  under- 
stand it." 

"It  is  one  thing  for  me  to  do  as  I  like,"  replied 
mademoiselle,  "and  another  thing  for  me  to  let  other 
people  do  as  they  like.  I  don't  mean  to  be  stiff, 
but  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  be  bothered, 
either." 

"It  will  be  no  bother  when  you  are  used  to  it," 
Mrs.  Bemax  replied ;  but,  at  the  time,  she  did  not 
advocate  her  view  any  farther. 

The  finishing  touches  were  being  put  to  the 
theatre,  and  Geoffrey  Bellingham  was  constantly  on 
hand  to  oversee  the  work ;  consequently,  he  and  the 
prima  donna  must  needs  meet  occasionally.  He 
said  very  little  to  her,  and  was  generally  very  busy 
when  she  might  have  entered  into  conversation  with 
him  :  but  she  had  an  impression  that  he  kept  his  eyes 
upon  her  often,  when  she  was  not  looking  at  him ; 
and  his  appearance  at  the  theatre  was  generally 


148  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

coincident  with  the  hour  of  her  rehearsals.  One 
day,  after  she  had  been  singing  a  grand  scene  very 
effectively,  she  happened  to  catch  his  eye  in  the 
stage  box,  where  he  stood  leaning  against  the  cur- 
tained partition,  abstractedly  knotting  and  unknot- 
ting  a  piece  of  tape.  His  gaze  was  so  earnest,  and 
at  the  same  time  so  melancholy,  that  the  prima 
donna,  obeying  an  impluse  that  was  partly  curiosity, 
but  partly  something  else,  went  round  to  the  box 
when  the  scene  was  over,  and  met  him  as  he  was 
coming  out. 

"How  unhappy  you  looked!"  she  said.  "TVus 
anything  wrong  ?  " 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  said,  ironically, 
"Oh,  you're  a  great  artiste  !"  . 

"I  mean  to  be,"  she  answered,  smiling. 

"A  great  actress,  too  !  I  should  like  to  see  you 
when  you  are  yourself." 

"I  am  myself  now,"  replied  Mile.  Marana.  Then 
she  remembered  that  she  was  not  telling  the  whole 
truth,  and  blushed  and  looked  down. 

"Then  you  must  be  a  remarkable  woman  !  But 
you  probably  don't  know  that  you  always  appear  to 
me  like  a  fresh  and  innocent  American  girl.  I  can't 
see  anything  foreign  or  —  stagey  in  your  talk  or 
manners.  Extremes  meet,  I  suppose,  and,  like 
Paul,  you  are  all  things  to  all  men." 

This  speech   made  the   young  diva  feel  that  the 


FRIENDS,   ENEMIES,  AND  LOVERS.       149 

world  was  very  wide  and  very  cruel ;  and  tears  came 
into  her  eyes.  She  was  alone ;  there  was  no  one  to 
answer  for  her  or  protect  her.  She  would  not  have 
minded  so  much  what  most  people  thought  of  her, 
but  it  would  have  been  a  great  comfort  to  her  if  this 
man,  at  any  rate,  had  by  some  divine  faculty  of 
vision  been  able  to  see  through  the  disguise  that 
veiled  her  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  He  did  see 
through  it ;  but  he  did  not  believe  what  he  saw.  He 
thought  that  his  discovery  was  her  deception,  and 
the  more  she  was  frank  and  simple,  the  more  she  was 
her  real  self,  the  less  would  he  believe  in  her.  It 
was  a  dilemma  between  intuition  and  reason ;  and, 
with  a  man  of  the  world,  reason,  in  such  cases,  is 
apt  to  have  the  best  of  it.  It  would  have  been  easy 
for  the  prima  donna  to  have  enlightened  him,  and 
under  certain  circumstances  she  might  have  been 
tempted  to  do  so.  But  now  it  was  a  matter  of  pride 
to  her,  if  nothing  else,  to  say  no  word  that  could 
laid  him  to  infer  that  his  sympathy  was  anything  to 
her  one  way  or  the  other.  But  she  was  at  liberty 
to  resent  an  insult,  and  she  felt  that  to  do  so  would 
help  her  to  preserve  her  composure. 

"-You  probably  don't  know,  sir,"  she  said,  imitat- 
ing his  phrase,  "that  to  call  even  an  opera-singer 
the  extreme  opposite  of  fresh  and  innocent,  is  not 
polite.  I  am  not  so  contemptible  a  thing  to  all  men 
as  I  seem  to  be  to  you  ! " 


150  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"It  was  a  brutal  thing  to  say,  and  I  did  not  mean 
it,"  he  replied,  in  a  low  voice.  "But  I  can't  say 
what  I  wish  to  you.  There's  no  middle  way."  And 
before  she  could  make  up  her  mind  what  this  meant, 
he  passed  by  her,  and  walked  heavily  away  down  the 
corridor. 

The  prima  donna  fell  into  a  deep  and  not  alto- 
gether painful  re  very.  She  seated  herself  on  a 
bench  behind  the  scenes,  and  followed  out  her  mus- 
ings, with  her  chin  on  her  hand.  The  rehearsal 
was  going  forward  in  front,  —  the  duets,  the  quartets, 
and  the  choruses ;  but  she  was  lost  in  thought. 
"There's  no  middle  way."  What  was  in  his  mind  — 
in  his  heart — when  he  said  that?  There  had  been 
something  very  potent  in  his  eyes, — that  she  was 
sure  of.  What  eyes  he  had  !  what  a  stern,  resolute 
face,  with  nothing  mean  or  commonplace  in  it !  He 
was  not  like  the  others,  either  in  aspect  or  in  man- 
ner. His  very  carelessness  and  roughness  were  more 
high-bred  than  their  best  behavior.  Though  he 
might  go  among  other  men,  he  would  always  be 
apart  from  them;  he  was  lonely,  like  herself;  but, 
unlike  hers,  his  was  a  voluntary  and  a  noble  loneli- 
ness. And  he  despised  her,  because  —  because  some 
other  woman  was  despicable  !  That  was  unjust,  and 
yet,  perhaps  there  was  inadvertent  justice  in  it. 
Perhaps,  if  he  knew  the  truth,  he  would  despise  her 
no  less,  on  other  grounds.  But,  again,  there  was 


FRIENDS,   ENEMIES,   AND  LOVERS.       151 

some  other  feeling  besides  contempt  at  work  within 
him ;  what  could  that  be  ?  The  girl  raised  her 
head  slightly,  with  a  doubtful,  musing  smile  on  her 
lips. 

There  was  a  stealthy  step  behind  her,  which  she 
did  not  hear  until  it  was  close  upon  her.  Then, 
suddenly,  a  pair  of  hands  were  pressed  over  her  eyes, 
and  her  head  was  drawn  back.  For  a  moment  she 
was  too  much  amazed  to  resist ;  besides,  she  thought 
it  must  be  —  could  not  but  be  —  some  one  who  had 
a  right  to  treat  her  so, — her  father,  or  even  her 
brother  Ed  ;  no  stranger  would  dare  !  Any  impos- 
sibility was  'more  possible  than  that.  The  next 
moment  she  felt  kisses  on  her  cheek  and  mouth, — 
clumsy,  offensive  kisses.  She  was  not  a  screaming 
woman,  but  she  gave  a  passionate  outcry  of  disgust, 
twisted  herself  free,  and  sprang  to  her  feet. 

The  offender  stood  before  her,  evidently  not  at  all 
convinced  of  the  enormity  of  his  outrage.  His  visage 
was  wrinkled  into  a  waggish  laugh,  in  which  he 
seemed  to  expect  the  prima  donna  to  join.  It  had 
already  been  made  apparent  to  her  that  the  man  had 
been  drinking,  but  the  mist  of  wrath  in  her  eyes  kept 
her  for  an  instant  from  recognizing  in  him  the  newly 
engaged  musical  director,  Herr  Plotowski.  She  felt 
that  if  she  had  had  a  weapon  in  her  hand  she  could 
have  killed  him  on  the  spot.  And  he  was  laugh- 


152  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

"Aha  !  my  beautiful  ma'm'selle  !  I  catch  you  fair 
dat  time  ! "  he  exclaimed,  jovially.  "  Oh  !  dose  beau- 
tiful lips  !  I  haf  often  long  to  salute  dem  I " 

"If  you  ever  come  near  me  or  speak  to  me  again"  — 
began  the  prima  donna;  but  she  checked  herself. 
She  would  not  condescend  even  to  threaten  such 
a  wretch.  Besides,  what  power  had  she  to  carry 
a  threat  into  execution  ?  Herr  Plotowski  had  been 
engaged  at  great  expense ;  he  was  considered  a 
valuable  acquisition.  No  one  could  lead  an  orchestra 
more  ably  than  he.  If  she  complained  of  him,  her 
complaint  would  be  put  off  or  disregarded  ;  nor  could 
she  bring  herself  to  confide  the  outrage  to  a  man  like 
General  Inigo.  He  would  be  sure  to  laugh,  and 
answer  her  with  some  coarse,  good-humored  jest. 
In  this  new  world  she  had  entered  into  everybody 
seemed  to  make  a  jest  of  everything.  There  was  no 
one  to  defend  her ;  she  must  submit,  if  she  could 
not  defend  herself.  But,  as  her  glance  fell  upon 
Herr  Plotowski,  she  told  herself  she  would  rather 
die  than  submit  to  such  another  insult. 

Her  passionate  indignation  must  have  made  itself 
perceptible  through  the  callous  hide  of  the  director, 
fortified  though  he  was  by  whiskey.  The  wrinkled 
laugh  gradually  faded  from  his  countenance,  and 
gave  place  to  an  expression  of  absurd  solemnity  and 
irritation.  "You  be  angry  dat  I  kiss  you,  eh?"  he 
cried  in  a  harsh  voice.  "Let  me  tell  you,  ma'm'selle, 


FRIENDS,  ENEMIES,   AND   LOVERS.       153 

I  kiss  all  ze  ladies  vot  sing  by  me.  Zey  dake  it  as 
compliment;  if  not,  I  make  it  vorse  for  zem,  eh? 
Plotowski  kiss  all  he  please,  and  dat  all  right,  aint 
it?  You  ask  ze  General,  and  you  find  out !  Now 
den  ! "  And  he  stalked  away  haughtily. 

This  incident  would,  perhaps,  have  affected  her 
somewhat  less  poignantly  if  it  had  not  occurred  im- 
mediately after  her  interview  with  Bellingham,  and 
while  her  thoughts  were  full  of  him.  The  revulsion 
was  almost  unendurable,  and  made  her  feel  as  if  the 
pollution  could  never  be  removed.  Her  bosom 
heaved,  and  bitter  tears  ran  down  her  face.  A 
woman  is  helpless  enough  at  best,  but  she  more  than 
the  rest,  because  she  was  fighting  under  a  false  name 
and  reputation.  Nevertheless,  she  could  not  retreat 
now,  nor  give  up  the  battle.  She  knew  that  her 
father  had  incurred  pecuniary  obligations  to  Inigo, 
whioh  could  only  be  repaid  through  her.  Besides, 
should  she  let  her  career  be  destroyed  at  the  outset 
because  a  creature  like  Plotowski  had  insulted  her? 
Should  she  not  rather  persevere  until  she  had  won 
such  position  and  such  power  as  should  enable  her 
to  protect  herself  against  all  the  world  ?  There  was 
a  proud,  unconquered  spirit  in  her,  which  asserted 
itself  in  her  forlornness  and  distress  more  than  it  had 
ever  done  in  her  security  and  happiness.  And,  after 
all,  she  was  not  without  friends.  At  the  worst,  she 
could  apply  to  her  father;  and  then,  there  was 


154  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

Hamilton  Jocelyn,  who,  although  rather  worldly  and 
absurd,  was  really  a  good  man,  with  her  interests  at 
heart,  as  was  proved  by  his  having  obtained  for  her 
this  splendid  engagement ;  and  there  was  Mr.  Dins- 
more,  who  seemed  kindly,  and  a  gentleman ;  and 
Mr.  Barclyffe,  who  had  written  all  that  praise  of  her 
in  the  newspaper  ;  and  there,  too,  was  Geoffrey  Bell- 
ingham ;  whatever  his  opinion  of  her  might  be,  she 
did  not  believe  that  he  would  have  stood  by  and 
allowed  Herr  Plotowski  to  insult  her.  No  ;  things 
were  not  so  hopeless,  after  all. 

Madame  Bemax  had  been  out  to  make  a  few  pur- 
chases on  Broadway  She  now  returned,  carrying 
her  little  bundles  by  loops  in  the  strings  that  tied 
them.  She  hoped  mademoiselle  had  not  been  de- 
layed or  inconvenienced.  Mademoiselle  replied  that 
she  had  not  been  delayed  ;  but  something  prevented 
her  from  telling  Madame  Bemax  about  the  adventure 
with  the  director.  She  feared  madame  would  say 
something  about  the  benefits  of  a  little  social  relaxa- 
tion, and  about  getting  used  to  it ;  and  she  did  not 
wish  to  feel  an  aversion  toward  the  good  lady,  who 
was,  in  many  respects,  agreeable  to  her.  So  she 
held  her  peace,  and  hid  her  secrets  in  her  heart ;  but 
she  could  not  fonret  them. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  SUCCESS  AND  GLORY  OF  HER  CAREER. 

/^VN  the  day  appointed  for  the  selling  of  tickets 
^^  for  the  first  performance  the  extent  of  the 
popular  interest  that  had  been  aroused  was  indicated 
by  the  length  of  the  "cue"  of  buyers,  who  made  a 
line  from  the  box-office  all  the  way  round  the  block, 
and  who  began  their  session,  or  station  rather,  up- 
ward of  twenty-four  hours  before  the  office  opened. 
Accounts  of  their  nocturnal  experiences,  their  jokes, 
and  their  good-humor  appeared  in  the  morning 
papers,  together  with  plans  of  the  interior  arrange- 
ments of  the  opera-house,  the  precautions  against 
fire  and  panic,  the  unequalled  splendor  and  perfection 
of  the  scenery,  and  the  cost  of  the  whole  enterprise. 
The  usual  safeguards  against  the  imposition  of  spec- 
ulators were  taken,  and  met  with  the  usual  success. 
By  five  in  the  afternoon  the  house  was  sold  from 
ceiling  to  cellar,  and  the  impressario,  leaning  in  an 
insouciant  attitude  against  the  bar  of  the  hotel,  with 
his  hat  on  one  side  and  his  face  broader  than  it  was 
long,  treated  his  numerous  friends  to  drinks,  and 
received  their  congratulations. 


156  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

This  was  on  a  Saturday.  On  Monday  the  per- 
formance took  place,  "  before  the  most  fashionable, 
cultivated,  and  appreciative  audience  ever  assembled 
on  a  similar  occasion  in  the  city  of  New  York."  So 
recent  and  eminent  a  triumph  is  not  likely  to  have 
been  forgotten  by  those  who  witnessed  it.  The 
opera  selected  was  "  Faust  "  ;  it  is  perhaps  the  most 
satisfactory  one  for  a  first  appearance,  not  only  be- 
cause of  its  musical  merits,  but  because  everybody 
is  familiar  with  it,  and  can  estimate  the  comparative 
success  of  the  new-comer  in  "  creating  "  afresh  the 
immortal  character  of  Marguerite.  There  had 
been  a  great  number  of  rehearsals,  and  Mile.  Ma- 
rana  had  grown  somewhat  weary  of  the  repetitions, 
and  latterly  had  begun  to  fear  that  when  the  great 
night  came  she  would,  if  not  unnerved  by  stage 
fright,  at  any  rate  be  unable  to  go  through  the  part 
otherwise  than  mechanically.  All  spontaneity  of 
action  and  sentiment  would  be  gone  from  her.  She 
stayed  in  her  apartment  all  day  on  Monday,  refusing 
to  see  any  one,  and  even  dispensing,  the  greater  part 
of  the  time,  with  the  presence  of  Madame  Bemax. 
She  wished  to  dismiss  the  whole  subject  of  the  opera 
from  her  mind,  and,  to  aid  herself  in  doing  so,  she 
fixed  her  thoughts  upon  her  brother  Ed,  and  recalled 
all  his  ways  and  escapades,  and  the  happy  times 
they  had  spent  together.  She  pictured  him  and 
herself  running  races,  and  climbing  trees,  and  find- 


SUCCESS  AND   GLORY.  157 

ing  birds'-nests,  and  tending  their  red  and  white 
roses,  and  going  on  hunting  expeditions  after  wood- 
chucks  and  squirrels  ;  and  she  brought  back  to  her 
memory  the  talks  they  used  to  have  together,  when 
they  would  lay  out  before  themselves  the  course  of 
their  future  lives, — what  they  would  do  and  what 
they  would  be.  How  different  from  their  anticipation 
it  had  turned  out !  But  he  was  her  brother  just  the 
same,  and  she  loved  him  no  less  than  she  had  ever 
done ;  on  the  contrary,  she  loved  him  more,  for  he 
had  given  her  an  opportunity  to  show  her  love  by 
repairing  an  injury  which  he  had  done.  It  was 
pleasant  to  think  that,  when  he  returned  home,  ex- 
pecting to  meet  only  distress  and  reproaches,  he 
would  find  instead  prosperity  as  great,  if  not  greater 
than  before  extravagance  began,  and  all  owing  to 
his  own  sister !  If  he  had  done  wrong,  his  sister 
thought,  the  discovery  that  she  had  worked  to  repair 
it  would  be  more  certain  than  anything  else  to  make 
him  henceforward  do  right.  Then  she  began  to 
speculate  as  to  what  sort  of  wrong  he  had  done, — 
whether  it  were  anything  more  than  thoughtlessness 
and  extravagance.  A  few  weeks  ago  she  would 
have  said  that  it  could  be  nothing  more  ;  but  she  had 
been  forced  to  see  and  hear  certain  things  of  late 
which  made  her  hesitate.  She  had  seen  what  some 
young  men,  possessed  of  money  and  freedom,  were 
and  did ;  why  might  not  her  brother  Ed  be  like 


158  BEATEIK  RANDOLPH. 

them?  .  .  .  She  put  the  thought  away  from 
her ;  she  would  not  believe  evil  of  her  own  brother. 
He  was  a  Randolph  and  a  gentleman.  He  might 
be  selfish  and  reckless,  but  he  would  never  do  any- 
thing wicked  or  disgraceful.  It  was  more  to  be 
feared  that  he  would  deem  her  to  have  disgraced 
herself,  in  stealing  another  woman's  name  and  repu- 
tation. It  was  all  very  well  to  plead  that  she  had 
been  persuaded  into  it  half  ignorantly,  half  against 
her  will ;  the  fact  that  she  had  done  it  remained. 
Well  —  it  was  too  late  to  turn  back  now  ! 

The  long  hours  passed  on,  and,  as  the  evening 
approached,  she  found  herself  thinking  not  of  Ed, 
but  of  another  person,  who  had  come  into  her  mind, 
not  by  her  own  invitation,  but  involuntarily ;  or, 
possibly,  he  had  been  in  the  background  all  the 
while,  and  advanced  as  the  other  receded.  She  had 
had  no  conversation  with  Bellingham  since  that  day 
at  the  theatre,  but  they  had  met  several  times,  and 
exchanged  a  few  words,  and  there  had  been  some- 
thing in  his  manner  that*  had  strengthened  and  re- 
assured her,  she  knew  not  why,  —  something  that 
seemed  to  show  that  intuition  was  acquiring  more 
weight  with  him  than  reason.  And  yet  he  had  not 
seemed  happy,  nor  at  ease  ;  but  his  uneasiness  was 
of  a  kind  that  soothed  and  inspirited  her.  It  was 
like  the  trouble  of  a  cloudy  dawn,  out  of  which  the 
sun  at  last  rises  clear.  He  was  not  treacherous  nor 


SUCCESS  AND   GLORY.  159 

intangible,  like  so  many  men ;  his  qualities  were 
large  and  firmly  based ;  he  could  not  play  monkey- 
tricks,  and  talk  one  thing  while  he  thought  another. 
The  process  of  his  feelings  was  honest  and  open  ; 
he  was  reserved  and  reticent  precisely  because  he 
could  not  be  insincere.  The  prima  donna  longed 
with  all  her  soul  to  be  as  frank  and  undisguised  as 
he.  She  felt  that,  could  she  be  so,  all  would  be 
well  between  them ;  but  that,  until  then,  all  would 
not  be  well.  And  she  said  to  herself,  how  perverse 
a  mishap  it  was  that  this  disguise  of  hers  should 
have  become  necessary  just  when  they  met ;  had  she 
met  him  at  any  other  time  of  her  life,  he  would 
have  known  her  as  she  really  was,  and  his  intuition 
and  his  reason  would  have  been  at  one.  But  then, 
again,  her  pride  arose,  and  she  vowed  that,  if  he  did 
not  care  enough  about  knowing  her  to  discern  her 
real  self  beneath  the  false  disguise,  he  should  never 
know  her  at  all.  But  did  what  she  called  her  real 
self  exist  any  longer?  Had  not  the  disguise  de- 
stroyed it?  And,  if  so,  could  she  expect  him  to 
discover  what  was  no  longer  there  ?  —  She  pressed 
her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  breathed  heavily. 

The  time  of  waiting  was  now  over,  however. 
Madame  Bemax  was  knocking  at  the  door,  and 
coming  in  with  mademoiselle's  cloak  and  bonnet  in 
her  hand,  and  saying  that  the  carriage  was  ready, 
and  that  they  must  drive  to  the  theatre  at  once,  in 


160  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

order  that  mademoiselle  might  have  time  to  put  on 
Marguerite's  dress,  before  the  curtain  rose.  The 
prima  donna  stood  up,  and  the  realization  of  what 
lay  before  her  came  sweeping  over  her  mind  like  a 
storm.  She  was  slightly  tremulous,  and  felt  cold 
and  feeble.  Madame  Bemax  made  her  drink  a  glass 
of  wine,  and  conducted  her  down  to  the  carriage. 
She  seemed  hardly  to  know  where  she  was ;  she 
could  speak  only  with  an  effort ;  a  benumbing  preoc- 
cupation had  got  possession  of  her.  At  the  carriage- 
door  a  gentleman  was  waiting,  clad  in  evening  dress, 
with  a  light  overcoat.  Her  heart  beat  for  an  instant, 
then  became  oppressed  and  tremulous  again ;  it  was 
only  Jocelyn.  He  helped  her  into  the  carriage,  and 
got  in  after  her  and  Madame  Bemax ;  he  began  to 
say  various  things  in  a  caressing,  encouraging  voice  ; 
she  exclaimed,  sharply,  "  Don't  speak  to  me  !  I  must 
think  my  thoughts  !  "  The  rattle  of  the  wheels  on 
the  pavement  agitated  her ;  she  could  not  keep  her 
hands  or  her  lips  still.  Sometimes  she  fancied  they 
had  been  driving  for  hours  ;  sometimes,  that  they 
had  scarcely  started.  When  at  length  they  arrived 
at  the  theatre,  everything  seemed  at  once  familiar 
and  strange ;  she  had  seen  it  all  scores  of  times  be- 
fore, but  never  with  the  eyes  she  saw  it  with  now. 
Several  persons  addressed  her,  but  she  walked  on 
to  her  dressing-room  without  appearing  conscious  of 
any  one.  The  room  was  small,  but  prettily  deco- 


SUCCESS  AND   GLORY.  161 

rated ;  there  were  two  full-length  mirrors  in  it,  and 
it  was  fragrant  with  flowers.  On  the  table  was  ly- 
ing a  bunch  of  marguerites,  tied  about  with  a  narrow 
blue  ribbon.  The  knot  by  which  the  ribbon  was 
fastened  caught  the  prima  donna's  eye ;  she  had 
seen  something  like  it  before.  It  was  not  an  ordi- 
nary knot,  but  one  such  as  sailors  make.  She  took 
up  the  little  white  and  golden  cluster,  and  looked 
them  over ;  there  was  nothing  to  show  whence  they 
came,  —  nothing  but  the  knot.  While  she  was  put- 
ting on  her  dress,  her  mind  occupied  itself  with  this 
little  mystery,  and  the  oppression  of  her  heart  was 
relieved.  She  put  the  marguerites  in  her  girdle, 
feeling  kindly  disposed  toward  them,  for  they  had 
done  her  good.  Then  a  desire  suddenly  took  pos- 
session of  her  to  go  out  and  see  the  audience.  The 
overture  was  still  in  progress,  and  she  might  cross 
the  stage  and  look  through  a  peep-hole  in  the  curtain. 

Madame  Bemax  assented,  and  accompanied  her. 
The  stage  was  dimly  lighted,  and  a  number  of  people 
were  moving  hither  and  thither  upon  it ;  the  scene- 
shifters  were  giving  the  last  touches  to  the  arrange- 
ments. Mile.  Marana,  with  a  light  shawl  over  her 
shoulders,  glided  unobserved  up  to  the  great  curtain, 
and  looked  through. 

The  spectacle  was  like  nothing  else  she  had  ever  seen 
or  imagined.  The  house  was  brilliant  with  light  and 
alive  with  movement  and  murmur.  But  the  thou- 


162  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

sands  of  faces,  row  after  row  and  tier  above  tier ! 
the  glance  of  innumerable  eyes,  all  turned  toward 
her  ;  all  come  there  to  see  her  !  —  it  was  astounding 
and  terrifying  !  Those  innumerable  eyes,  — nothing 
could  escape  them,  nothing  be  invisible  to  them. 
They  were  overpowering,  hostile,  exterminating ! 
All  impression  of  individual  human  beings  was  lost, 
and  the  audience  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  monster, 
without  sympathies  and  responsibilities,  immense, 
incontrollable,  omniscient,  —  a  merciless,  multitu- 
dinous inquisition  !  How  could  a  single  girl  contend 
against  them  ?  By  what  miracle  could  her  voice  and 
presence  reach  and  subdue  them?  Rather,  her 
spirit  would  evaporate  from  her  lips  before  them,  and 
leave  her  inanimate. 

As  she  stood  gazing  there,  some  one,  crossing  the 
stage  from  the  wings,  passed  near  her.  She  knew 
the  step,  and  turned.  Yes,  it  was  Bellingham. 
He  recognized  her,  and  paused,  apparently  surprised 
to  see  her  there,  but  his  expression  could  not  be  dis- 
covered in  the  shadow. 

"Does  the  house  satisfy  you,  mademoiselle?"  he 
said,  approaching  her.  As  he  did  so  he  glanced  at 
the  flowers  in  her  girdle.  The  glance  did  not  escape 
her,  and  then  she  knew  where  it  was  she  had  seen 
the  knot  before.  It  was  that  day  of  their  inter- 
view in  the  corridor ;  his  fingers  had  been  idly  busy 
tying  and  untying  a  bit  of  string. 


SUCCESS  AND   GLORY.  163 

> 

"I  didn't  .know  you  would  be  here,"  she  sail, 
in  a  whisper.  "I  am  glad." 

"They  expect  a  call  for  the  architect,"  he  replied, 
"and  I  must  make  a  bow." 

"  Will  you  be  in  the  audience  while  I  sing  ?  " 

"Yes;  why?" 

"  Show  me  which  seat  is  yours." 

He  stepped  to  the  peep-hole. 

"  You  see  that  chair  half-way  down  the  centre 
aisle?  That  is  mine." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  ;  "  and  thank  you  for  these 
flowers.  I  feel  made  over  new  !  Now  I  can  sing." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  and  Geoffrey  took  it  in  his. 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  them  as  if  they  were 
alone  together.  When  two  persors  meet  in  com- 
plete sympathy  all  other  human  association  seems 
so  trifling  in  comparison  that  they  cease  to  be'  aware 
of  it. 

At  this  moment  the  overture  came  to  an  end,  and 
the  order  was  issued  for  the  stage  to  be  cleared. 
The  jpr/ma  donna  found  herself  again  in  her  dressing- 
room,  but  not  in  the  same  mood  as  she  had  left  it. 
She  was  warm,  composed,  and  happy.  She  looked 
in  the  tall  mirror,  and  for  the  first  time  saw  Mar- 
guerite reflected  there.  Then  into  her  serene  and 
awakened  mind  entered  all  the  tenderness,  simplicity, 
and  pathos  of  Gretchen's  lovely  story,  and  she  felt 
the  spirit  of  the  German  peasant  maiden  take  posses- 


1G4  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

sion  of  her.  The  appurtenances  «of  the  stage,  the 
mechanism  of  the  effects,  the  glare  of  the  footlights, 
no  longer  had  power  to  disturb  her  illusion  ;  they 
seejned  themselves  an  illusion,  and  only  the  story 
was  real.  And  when  the  moment  came  that  she 
stood  before  the  mighty  audience  they  were  to  her 
no  longer  a  hostile  and  opposing  presence,  with 
which  she  must  struggle  in  hopeless  contest,  but 
a  vast  reservoir  of  human  sympathy,  aiding  her, 
supporting  her,  comprehending  her,  supplying  her 
with  life  and  inspiration,  and  responding  a  thou- 
sand-fold to  every  chord  she  touched.  As  her  voice 
floated  out  and  abroad  from  her  lips,  it  seemed  to 
owe  its  enchanted  sweetness  and  resonance,  not  to 
her,  but  to  its  echo  in  the  hearts  of  her  listeners. 
Whence,  then,  had  come  this  marvellous  change 
in  the  mutual  relations  between  her  audience  and 
herself?  She  was  conscious  only  of  the  joy  of 
unrestrained  expression ;  the  audience,  only  of  the 
delight  of  ear  and  eye;  and  Geoffrey  Bellingham, 
sitting  with  folded  arms  and  charmed  pulses  in  the 
midst  of  the  assemblage,  had  no  suspicion  that  any 
part  of  this  triumph  of  harmony  and  beauty  was  due 
to  him.  His  eyes  and  all  his  senses  were  turned 
toward  her,  but  how  should  he  imagine  that  amid  the 
crowd  of  that  great  amphitheatre  her  glances  were 
conscious  of  no  face  but  his,  and  that  all  the  stupen- 
dous magnetism  of  their  silence  and  their  applause 


SUCCESS  AND   GLORY.  165 

was  centred  and  concentrated  in  him  ?  He  had  even 
forgotten  that  his  marguerites  were  in  her  girdJe. 

As  has  already  been  intimated,  however,  it  would 
be  superfluous  to  give  any  account  of  this  memora- 
ble performance  from  the  audience's  point  of  view. 
Competent  judges,  who  attended  many  repetitions  of 
the  opera,  have  declared  that  Mile.  Marana  never 
afterward  surpassed  the  standard  of  excellence  she 
attained  on  this  first  occasion.  It  was  the  topic  of 
the  time,  and  the  fame  of  it  spread  all  over  the 
United  States,  and  was  spoken  of  next  day  in  Lon- 
don and  Paris.  The  public,  which  is  so  inhuman 
and  tyrannical  in  its  apathies  and  antipathies,  is  like 
a  child  and  a  slave  in  its  favoritism  r.:ul  1A ;  liomage. 
It  idolized  the  incomparable  Marana,  and  would  have 
built  her  a  house  of  gold,  with  jewelled  windows,  if 
she  had  demanded  it.  The  unknown  girl  from  the 
upper  reaches  of  the  Hudson  was  crowned  Queen  of 
New  York  for  the  sake  of  two  or  three  hours'  sweet 
singing. 

It%  seldom  that  Adam,  or  even  diviner  Eve,  in 
the  days  of  their  youth,  are  wholly  insensible  to  the 
Avorghip  of  their  fellow-creatures.  They  may  say. 
and  believe,  that  flattery  cannot  make  them  alter 
their  own  estimate  of  their  merit ;  nevertheless,  the 
eye  that  sees  admiration  in  all  other  eyes  involunta- 
rily waxes  brighter  and  more  assured,  and  the  pres- 
ence before  which  others  bow  down,  if  it  do  not  bear 


166  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

itself  more  commandingly,  can  at  least  scarcely  avoid 
a  graceful  condescension.  Doubtless  it  is  not  the 
merit,  but  the  homage  which  the  merit  causes,  that 
creates  the  elation.  And  by  and  by  the  suggestion 
will  insinuate  itself  that  there  may,  after  all,  be 
something  exceptional  in  the  nature  gifted  with  such 
talents,  apart  from  the  talents  themselves.  From 
this  point  it  is  not  far  to  the  conclusion  that  excep- 
tional natures  demand  exceptional  treatment  and 
consideration :  should  not  be  made  accountable  to 
ordinary  rules ;  should  be  a  law  unto  themselves. 
No  position  is  more  susceptible  than  this  of  being 
vindicated  by  plausible  arguments  ;  and  a  poor  argu- 
ment warmed  by  good-will  has  always  been  worth  a 
dozen  better  ones  chilled  and  torpid  from  the  breath 
of  disinclination. 

Now,  Mile.  Marana,  though  she  could  not  estimate 
the  influence  upon  others  of  the  personal  quality  of 
her  voice,  could  not  help  knowing  that  she  sung  in 
tune  and  correctly ;  but,  inasmuch  as  many  other 
women  could  do  this,  she  was  forced  to  infer  that 
her  being  made  Queen  of  New  York  must  be 
due  to  some  personal  quality  as  aforesaid.  This 
just  persuasion  gave  her  pleasure  on  more  accounts 
than  one ;  but  one  account  was,  that  it  seemed  to 
justify  in  some  measure  the  deception  which  she  was 
maintaining  before  the  world.  Though  still  charge- 
able with  purloining  Mai-ana's  name,  she  might,  per- 


SUCCESS  AND   GLORY.  167 

haps,  acquit  her  conscience  of  damaging  that  lady  in 
her  musical  reputation.  If  she  were  listened  to  with 
as  great  favor  as  the  genuine  Russian  diva  would 
have  been,  surely  the  latter  could  not  complain  of 
any  very  great  practical  injury.  On  the  contrary, 
she  would  have  earned  an  American  renown  without 
being  troubled  to  so  much  as  open  her  lips.  True, 
renown  was  all  she  would  earn ;  but  she  had 
voluntarily  given  up  the  offer  of  other  emoluments, 
before  the  false  Marana  had  ever  been  thought  of. 
Of  course,  a  lie  is  a  lie,  after  every  excuse  has  been 
made  for  it ;  yet  there  may  be  cause  for  congratulation 
if  a  lie  prove  to  contain  no  other  mischief  than  the 
simple  invasion  of  a  truth. 

In  this  opinion  she  was,  it  need  scarcely  be  said, 
cordially  supported  by  Hamilton  Jocelyn  and  Madame 
Bemax ;  nor  was  her  father  disinclined  to  take  an 
optimistic  view  of  the  situation.  The  latter  gen- 
tleman, by  the  way,  seemed  to  have  taken  a  fresh 
start  in  life  since  his  troubles  came  to  head,  therein 
following  the  example  of  many  prominent  citizens 
of  New  York  and  other  places,  who,  when  other 
sources  of  supply  run  dry,  are  accustomed  to  tap 
with  golden  success  the  unfailing  spring  of  Insolvency. 
Mr.  Randolph  had  taken  rooms  in  a  small  but 
elegant  flat  on  Fifth  avenue,  and  was  living  the 
life  of  a  rejuvenated  bachelor  and  man  about  town. 
The  possession  of  a  momentous  secret  flattered  his 


168  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

sense  of  self-importance,  incumbency  of  a 

minor  sinecure  in  the  municipal  government,  Avhich 
he  had  obtained  through  General  Inigo's  friendly 
interest  with  the  democratic  mayor,  enabled  him  to 
assume  the  r,L*  of  one  who  is  on  confidential  terms 
.with  statesmen.  Ha  had  been  at  considerable  pains 
to  devise  ambiguous  explanations  of  his  possession 
of  ready  money,  and  of  the  singular  disappe;; 
of  his  draighter :  a;id  had  been  somewhat  disap- 
pointed to  discover  that  no  one  seemed  to  be  a 
that  he  had  ever  lacked  the  former  or  owned  the 
latter. 

The  world,  Mr.  Randolph  thought,  must  be  a 
barbarously  large  as  well  as  a  reprehensibly  inat- 
tontive  place,  since  it  had  failed  to  follow  with 
solicitude  the  course  of  his  domestic  concerns. 
However,  if  there  was  neglect  on  one  side  of  the 
account,  it  was  balanced  by  convenience  on  the  • 
and  the  unsuspected  father  of  the  great prima  donna 
made  a  virtue  of  impunity. 

He  visited  his  daughter  twice  or  thrice  a  week, 

besides  being  present  at  her  performances ;  but   it 

'^d  him  a  certain  gratification  to  surround  tlieir 

with  an  elaborate  net- work  of  secrecy  and 

in.          ; — as  if  he  were  an  enamored  Montague 

>  commune,  at  peril  of  their  lives,  with  a 

'apulet.     There  was  evidently  a  vein  of 

romance  in  this  old  gentleman,  which,  had  it  been 


I 

SUCCESS  AND   GLORY.  169 

properly  cultivated  in  due  season,  might  have  con- 
siderably enlarged  *his  character. 

To  return,  however,  to  the  prima  donna's 
conscience  :  it  would  probably  have  subsided  into  a 
condition  of  comfortable  acquiescence  in  destiny,  .had 
it  not  been  for  the  stimulus  unconsciously  applied 
to  it  by  a  gentleman  of  her  acquaintance.  She 
could  never  meet  Geoffrey  Bellingham  without 
wishing  that  Mile.  Marana  had  never  been  born  ;  or, 
at  lea.^t,  that  she  herself  might  have  achieved  her 
fame  in  some  straightforward  and  unencumbered  way. 
When  a  certain  tender  look  and  smile,  very  winning 
in  one  whose  features  were  naturally  severe,  came 
into  his  face,  the  pleasure  it  gave  her  was  marred  by 
the  reflection,  How  would  he  look  if  he  knew  wjift 
I  am  ?  It  is  true  that  he  believed  her  to  be  a  woman 
whose  moral  character  was  currently  supposed  to 
be  less  immaculate  than  a  good  many  aliases  would 
render  that  of  Beatrix  Randolph  ;  none  the  less  she 
felt,  when  in  his  presence,  that  her  one  actual  ein  was 
more  burdensome  that  all  the  vicarious  naughtiness 
of  the  unknown  Russian.  She  told  herself  that 
Geoffrey  had  perhaps  made  up  his  mind  to  condone 
Marana's  delinquencies,  taking  into  account  her 
foreign  training,  her  temptations,  and  the  loose 
standard  of  morals  that  prevailed  in  Europe ;  but 
that  he  never  would  forgive  Beatrix  for  having 
deliberately  misled  him, — she,  an  American  girl, 


170  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

brought  up  amid  all  the  enlightenment  and  fastidious 
rectitude  of  the  great  Republic.  This  was  the 
crumpled  leaf  in  her  bed  of  roses,  and  it  chafed  her 
relentlessly. 

But  persons  whose  perception  of  their  value  — 
social,  artistic,  or  other  —  is  on  the  way  to  beguile 
them  into  making  a  golden  calf  of  themselves  in  the 
wilderness,  may  have  reason  to  be  grateful  for  the 
implicit  criticism  of  some  severe-eyed  young  law- 
giver, whose  exhortations  are  none  the  less  effective 
because  they  happen  to  be  the  utterance  of  the  silent 
voice  of  character. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HOW   SHE   WAS   BETRAYED    AND    SLANDERED. 

/~\NE  forenoon,  as  Wallie  Dinsuiore  was  seated  in 
^-^  his  study,  with  his  slippered  feet  pointed  toward 
the  fireplace,  the  newspaper  across  his  knees,  and  the 
African  lemur  munching  a  lump  of  sugar  on  his 
shoulder,  he  heard  the  door-bell  ring.  He  rubbed 
his  forehead  between  his  eyes,  and  uncrossed  and 
recrossed  his  extended  legs,  by  way  of  arousing 
himself,  for  his  serenity  during  the  last  half-hour 
had  been  gradually  verging  toward  the  soporific 
stage.  A  few  moments  afterward  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  study -door,  and  Wallie,  resting  his  chin  on 
the  apex  of  a  triangle  made  by  his  elbows  and  joined 
hands,  said,  "  Come  in  !  " 

The  visitor  entered,  and  coming  up  to  Wallie's 
chair,  took  the  paw  of  the  lemur  in  his  hand  and 

.shook  it.     The  lemur  chattered,  and  Wallie  looked 

>- 
up. 

"  Hullo,  Geoffrey,"  he  said,  "  I  was  just  thinking 
about  a  cottage  at  Newport.  Sit  down  and  let  me 
tell  you  my  idea.  Have  a  cigarette,  —  or  a  cigar? " 


172  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

"  Have  you  any  smoking-tobacco  ? "  returned 
Geoffrey,  taking  a  pipe  from  his  pocket. 

"  I  guess  you'll  find  some  Cavendish  in  the  jar. 
You  know  where  the  matches  are," 

Geoffrey  supplied  himself,  and  then  drew  a  chair 
to  the  other -side  of  the  fireplace  and  smoked  for 
several  minutes  in  silence.  At  length  he  said, 
"  Were  you  at  the  opera  last  night  ? " 

"No  ;  what  was  k^" 

"  'Semiramide.'" 

"Good?" 

"Yes." 

"  Your  theatre  seems  to  suit  her,"  Wallie  remarked. 
"By  the  way,  there  irmit  js  a  column  about  last 
night  in  the  paper.  Yes ;  'hers  it  is.  '  No  such 
rendering  cf  the  •—  ::.3  of  this  part  has  ever' — and 
so  '4-  success.'" 

'• —   ae  can  —  sing,"    replied 

Wallirs  v  '  ,  ness  that  was  his  only  form 

ofemp:  zzlesme!" 

"  If  she's  been  through  the  wars,  where  are  her 
scars  ?  She  looks  fresh  as  a  lily  and  sweet  as  new- 
mown  hay.  Where's  the  cloven  foot?  " 

"Tliereis  none,"  said  Geoffrey  with  a  laconic 
conviction. 

"  So  I'm  inclined  to  think  ;  and  so  I'm  puzzled." 


BETRAYED  AND  SLANDERED.  173 

"  There  will  be  stories  about  any  woman,"  rejoined 
Geoffrey  ;  "  mostly  lies." 

"  But  some  of  the  European  stories  about  Mile. 
Marana  —  well,  they  would  lead  one  to  suppose  that 
she  had  changed  her  nature,  and  everything  else 
except  her  name,  when  she  landed  in  this  country." 

"  Well,  since  her  name  is  the  only  thing  she  could 
change,  it  follows  .  .  .  And  our  opinion  should 
be  formed  on  what  we  see  and  know,  not  on  hear- 
say." 

"  You  are  only  quoting  what  I  said  to  you  when 
you  didn't  want  to  come  to  the  dinner,"  said  Wallie, 
with  a  chuckle.  "  To  be  sure,  I  hadn't  seen  her 
then." 

"I  thought  you  had  seen  her  abroad." 

"  Well  —  I  mean  I  hadn't  seen  her  before  in 
Xcw  York." 

"  There  has  been  nothing  against  her  since  she 
came  ?  " 

"  No ;  on  the  contrary,  I  think  she  has  had  the 
opportunity  of  refusing  several  eligible  offers ;  and 
she  has  done  so,  for  all  the  world  like  a  true  Ameri- 
can girl." 

"  Who  were  the  men  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  telling.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

As  Geoffrey  made  no  reply,  but  smoked  with  a 
good  deal  of  sternness,  AVallie  continued  after  a  while, 
"  I  suppose  your  wisdom-teeth  are  cut,  young  man  ?  " 


174  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

"  She's  a  lady,  and  I — wish  her  treated  as  such, 
that's  all ! "  said  Geoffrey.  "  What  were  you  saying 
about  a  cottage  at  Newport  ?  " 

Before  this  topic  could  be  gone  into,  the  friends 
were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  another  caller 
—  Mr.  Alexander  Randolph. 

"Who  the  devil  is  he?"  demanded  Geoffrey, 
knocking  out  his  pipe. 

"  Never  met  him  till  this  autumn.  He  won't  hurt 
you.  Sit  still." 

"Ah  —  good  morning,  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  said  Ran- 
dolph, entering  in  state,  with  his  gray  eyebrows  and 
imperial ;  "  I  can  remain  but  a  moment."  Here  he 
caught  sight  of  Bellingham.  "Am  I  in  the  way?" 

"  In  the  way  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  Mr. 
Belliugham  —  Mr.  Randolph,"  said  Wallie.  "  Sit 
down,  gentlemen.  Have  a  cigar,  Mr.  Randolph?" 

"  I  thank  you  —  never  before  luncheon.  To  come 
to  the  point  at  once  —  I  am  of  a  committee  of  gentle- 
men to  extend  a  complimentary  breakfast  to  General 
Inigo,  on  the  fourteenth  of  this  month.  Can  we 
count  upon  your  attendance  ?  " 

"  The  fourteenth?  Let  me  see,"  said  Wallie,  open- 
ing a  drawer  in  his  desk  and  taking  out  a  memoran- 
dum-book. "Yes,  there  seems  to  be  nothing  on  that 
day.  Much  obliged  to  you  and  the  committee,  Mr. 
Randolph." 

"  The  hour  is  one  o'clock,"  said  Randolph. 


BETEAYED  AND  SLANDERED.  175 

"  General  Inigo  deserves  a  breakfast,"  Wallie  re- 
marked. "  He  deserves  three  meals  a  day.  He  has 
catered  very  well  for  us." 

"That  seems  to  be  the  general  impression,"  said 
Randolph,  giving  a  twist  to  his  eyebrow. 

"  We  were  just  discussing  the  prima  donna, " 
Wallie  continued.  "You  know  her,  of  course,  Mr. 
Randolph?" 

"I  —  ah  —  I  have  —  that  is,  slightly.  I  have 
heard  her  sing ;  I  may  have  met  her  socially ;  one 
meets  so  many  people,  it  is  difficult  to  say." 

He  colored  while  he  spoke,  and  seemed  a  good 
deal  confused. 

"  She's  a  very  pretty  woman,  and  seems  to  be  as 
virtuous  as  she  is  pretty,  strange  to  say,"  the  other 
went  on.  "  There's  a  discrepancy  between  her  con- 
duct and  her  history." 

Mr.  Randolph  colored  still  more. 

"I — I'm  an  old-fashioned  man,  sir,"  he  said, 
whisking  a  silk  handkerchief  out  of  his  coat-tail 
pocket  and  passing  it^ever  his  forehead.  "In  my 
day  we  —  we  took  the  virtue  of  a  lady  for  granted  ; 
and  I  must  say  I —  of  course,  I  have  no  right  to  be 
the  champion  of  this  lady,  sir,  but " — 

He  stopped,  and  Bellinghain  said,  "  Any  man 
has  a  right  to  respect  a  woman  he  believes  honest, 
and  to  make  others  do  so  in  his  presence.  If  that's 
old-fashioned,  Mr.  Randolph,  count  me  in  !  " 


176  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  returned  the  other. 

He  rose  and  put  back  his  handkerchief  in  his 
pocket. 

"I  must  take  leave  of  you,  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  he 
added.  "A  man  like  myself  has  a  great  many 
affairs  on  hand.  We  shall  look  for  you  on  the  four- 
teenth, then.  Good-morning  ;  good-morning,  Mr. 
—  ah  —  Bellingham." 

"  I  am  more  puzzled  than  ever,"  said  Wallie, 
when  Randolph  was  gone. 

"What  now?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  he  couldn't  quite  make  up 
his  mind  whether  he'd  met  her  or  not ;  then  he  got 
flurried  because  I  suggested  there  had  been  stories 
about  her ;  and,  finally,  he  took  to  flight  rather  than 
discuss  her  any  more.  Now,  if  he  doesn't  know 
her,  why  should  he  flare  up  so  about  her?  and  if  he 
does  know  her,  why  does  he  pretend  he  doesn't?" 

"He's  an  old-fashioned  " —  began  Geoffrey. 

"  That's  gammon,"  interrupted  Wallie,  "  and  you 
know  it !  The  fall  of  man  is  ah  older  fashion 
than  Mr.  Randolph.  Did  any  sane  man,  young  or 
old,  ever  get  into  a  state  of  mind  because  the  cor- 
rectness of  an  opera-singer  he  didn't  know  was  called 
in  question  ?  I  can't  make  it  out  —  unless  he  means 
to  marry  her  !  " 

This  speculation  was  received  by  Geoffrey  in  dead 
silence,  and  for  a  considerable  time  neither  of  the 


BETRAYED  AND   SLANDERED.  177 

men  said  anything.  At  last  the  question'  of  the 
cottage  at  Newport  was  brought  up  once  more,  and 
canvassed  until  they  parted. 

Bellingham  walked  slowly  toward  Madison  square, 
with  Mr.  Randolph  (among  other  things)  on  his 
mind.  Still  meditating,  he  turned  up  Fifth  avenue, 
and  before  long  found  himself  opposite  Mile.  Ma- 
rana's  hotel.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  never 
yet  called  on  her  in  her  own  apartments,  and  he  re- 
solved to  repair  that  neglect.  Accordingly  he  went 
to  the  office  and  inquired  if  she  were  in.  The  clerk 
glanced  at  the  key-board,  and  said  "Yes"  abstract- 
edly. Bellingham  got  into  the  elevator,  and  went 
up. 

The  passage-way,  after  the  bright  sunlight  of  the 
street,  seemed  rather  dark.  Not  knowing  which  way 
the  numbers  ran,  he  remained  for  a  moment  where  the 
elevator  left  him.  Just  then  a  door  was  opened  on 
the  right,  a  gentleman  came  out,  and  advanced 
along  the  passage  toward  him.  When  about  ten 
paces  distant, -he  stopped,  turned  back,  and  departed 
hastily  in  the  opposite  direction.  But  Bellingham 
had  recognized  him  ;  it  was  Mr.  Randolph. 

The  incident  made  little  impression  on  him,  how- 
ever. He  turned  to  the  leff ,  looking  for  the  number, 
but  finding  he  was  going  the  wrong  way,  he  retraced 
his  steps,  and  presently  found  himself  standing  be- 
fore the  door  from  which  Mr.  Randolph  had  just 


178  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

issued.  It  bore  Mile.  Marana's  number.  He 
knocked,  and  Madame  Bemax  opened  to  him.  On 
his  inquiring  whether  the  prima  donna  were  en- 
gaged, the  lady  said  she  would  see.  So  he  walked 
in,  and  stood  by  the  window,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
Mile.  Marana  appeared.  She  greeted  him  with  such 
evidently  spontaneous  pleasure  that  any  slight  mis- 
giving he  may  have  felt  was  immediately  dissipated. 

"I  began  to  think  you  were  never  going  to  come," 
she  said. 

"I'm  so  much  out  of  the  way  of  making  calls, 
that  I'm  surprised  to  find  myself  here.  You  have  a 
great  many  callers  ?  " 

"  Well,  a  good  many  come,  but  I  see  very  few  — 
only  old  friends.  And,  of  course,"  she  added,  "  as 
I  was  never  in  New  York  before,  that  is  the  same  as 
saying  I  see  hardly  any  one." 

"I  met  a  man  lately  who  knows  you,  I  think,  — 
Mr.  Randolph." 

"  Mr.  Randolph  ?  "  she  pronounced  the  name  in  a 
v changed  tone,  and  blushed. 

"Alexander  Randolph,"  he  repeated,  looking  at 
her. 

She  dropped  her  eyes.  "I  —  believe — I  have 
heard  his  name,"  she  said. 

Bellingham  said  no  more,  he  felt  dismayed  and 
bewildered.  Undoubtedly  there  was  some  un- 
pleasant mystery  about  this  fellow  Randolph.  "  Heard 


BETRAYED  AND  SLANDERED.  179 

his  name,"  indeed !  Had  not  the  man  been  in  her 
company  five  minutes  ago  ? 

"  I  saw  you  at  the  opera  last  night,"  remarked  the 
prima  donna,  recovering  herself.  Bellingham  merely 
nodded.  "  Were  you  disappointed?"  she  asked,  fal- 
teringly. 

"  No,  I  was  like  the  rest  of  the  audience,"  he  re- 
plied in  a  dry  tone. 

"You  are  not  like  the  rest  of  the  audience  to  me," 
she  said.  "Ever  since  the  first  night. I  have  sung 
to  you.  I  wouldn't  tell  you,  only  —  I  thought  you 
knew  it !  " 

"I  know  nothing  about  you,"  returned  Belling- 
ham, roughly. 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  didn't  care  to  know  any- 
thing," she  said,  holding  up  her  head. 

Bellingham  controlled  his  rising  temper. .  A 
weaker  man  would  have  protected  himself  by  irony 
or  sarcasm,  but  he  said  exactly  what  he  thought. 
"  I  care  more  about  what  concerns  you,"  he  said, 
"than  about  anything  else.  But  I  will  not  look 
away  when  I  am  being  deceived.  You  and  this 
Randolph  are  both  pretending  to  be  strangers  to  each 
other.  I  saw  him  come  out  of  this  room  just  before 
I  came  into  it.  Do  you  deny  that  he  was  here  ?  " 

"  He  was  here,"  answered  she,  turning  pale. 

"  There  is  only  one  other  question  :  are  you  going 
to  many  him  ?  " 


180  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

This  was  so  unexpected  that  she  laughed.  It  was 
a  nervous,  almost  hysterical  laugh,  it  is  true ;  but 
Bellingham  naturally  did  not  understand  it.  "I  am 
not  going  to  marry  Mr.  Randolph,"  said  the  prima 
donna,  with  a  heart-broken  sense  of  humor. 

"And  you  will  not  tell  me  what  your  relations 
are  with  him?" 

"  No ;  they  are  very  peculiar  relations,"  she  re- 
plied lightly,- for  she  was  getting  desperate.  "You 
must  think  what  j^ou  please, — think  the  worst  you 
can,  it  makes  no  difference.  I  will  tell  you 
nothing ! " 

Bellingham  gazed  at  her  fixedly.  "I  cannot 
believe  that  you  are  a  wicked  woman,"  he  ex- 
claimed at  length.  "I  don't  know  how  to  believe 
it !  Why  did  you  deceive  me  ?  I  was  ready  to 
take  it  for  granted  that  you  were  —  like  other 
women  on  the  stage.  But  you  made  me  believe 
you  were  pure  and  innocent.  No  woman  ever  acted 
innocence  before  as  you  have  done  it.  You  look 
like  innocence  incarnate  at  this  moment  —  at  the 
actual  moment  you  are  admitting.  .  .  .  TVhat 
is  it  you  want?  I  would  have  asked  you  to  marry 
me  —  as  soon  as  I  had  persuaded  myself  you  loved 
me.  I  loved  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul.  Did 
you  merely  intend  to  lead  me  on,  and  then  refuse 
me,  like  a  common  flirt?  Or  would  you  have  mar- 
ried me,  and  still  kept  up  your  relations  with  — 


BETRAYED  AND   SLANDERED.  181 

well,  I  can't  talk  about  it !  There  is  always  some 
motive  even  in  the  lightest  wickedness ;  but  I  can 
see  none  in  yours  —  and  yours  is  not  light !  " 

Mile.  Marana  was  standing  erect,  twisting  her 
lace  handkerchief  between  her  hands,  her  face  pale, 
her  eyes  wide  open,  tearless,  full  of  restless  light. 
She  never  looked  at  him ;  it  seemed  physically  im- 
possible for  her  to  do  so. 

"I  have  never  been  spoken  to  like  this,"  she  said, 
in  a  faint,  panting  voice  ;  "will  you  leave  me,  please  ? 
—  will  you  leave  me  ?  " 

Bcllingham  moved  to  depart ;  but  he  stopped,  and 
turned  back. 

"  I  have  always  meant  never  to  be  unjust  to  any 
human  being,"  said  he.  "It  is  possible  that  the 
very  love  I  felt  for  you  may  have  made  me  unjust 
to  you.  If  you  can  tell  me  that  there  is  nothing 
disgraceful  in  this  secret  of  yours — tell  me,  for 
God's  sake  !  Are  you  what  you  seem,  or  something 
else?" 

"  I  am  not  what  I  seem  !  "  she  cried  out  passion- 
ately ;  and  now  she  looked  at  him  with  a  blaze  of 
fierceness  in  her  eyes.  "You  have  doubted  me,  and 
that  is  enough  ;  I  will  never  explain  —  I  will  never, 
forgive  you  !  If  you  are  a  man,  do  not  stand  there  ; 
go  out !  " 

Bellingham  was  shaken  to  the  bottom  of  his  soul. 
The  voice  and  manner  with  which  her  every  word 


182  BEATRIX    RANDOLPH. 

was  uttered  seemed  lo  contradict  the  purport  of  the 
words  themselves.  Even  yet  he  could  not  but  be- 
lieve her  innocent.  But  there  was  nothing  further 
for  him  to  do  or  say.  He  went  out. 

He  descended  the  stairs  slowly  and  emerged  into 
the  street.  It  was  the  middle  of  the  day  ;  the  avenue 
was  comparatively  deserted.  A  few  carriages  were 
taking  their  occupants  home  to  luncheon.  Belling- 
ham  stood  on  the  curbstone,  looking  up  and  do\vn, 
and  vaguely  wondering,  what  he  should  do  next. 
By  and  by  it  struck  him  that  it  would  not  make 
much  difference  which  way  he  went.  In  110  place 
in  the  world  could  he  find  what  he  had  lost.  It  was 
nowhere ;  it  had  been  annihilated.  All  that  had 
made  life  delightful  was  gone  from  him,  and  he  was 
left  ironically  behind.  He  had  never  really,  possessed 
it,  even;  it  was  a  mirage  —  a  phantom,  which  he 
had  tried  to  grasp,  and  it  had  vanished.  But  the 
strangest  part  of  the  business  —  almost  ludicrous  — 
was,  that  he  remained  behind,  standing  here,  alive 
and  well,  in  the  sunshine  on  Fifth  avenue ! 

He  sauntered  leisurely  northward,  toward  the 
Park.  Two  or  three  times  he  passed  some  one  he 
knew,  and  returned  their  greeting  with  a  nod.  But 
all  the  while  he  saw  that  lithe,  erect  figure,  with  her 
palej  lovely  face,  her  eyes  bright  with  pain  or  an- 
ger, her  white  hands  twisting  her  handkerchief. 
Could  it  be  that  she  was  depraved,  false,  heartless? 


BETRAYED  AND   SLANDERED.  183 

Every  stern  word  he  had  spoken  had  been  echoed, 
as  it  were,  by  the  exquisite  sensitiveness  of  her 
beauty.  If  she  were  false,  would  she  not  have  been 
true  at  that  last  moment,  when  nothing  more  was 
to  be  gained  by  deception,  when  to  be  sincere  was 
essential  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  triumph  her  false- 
hood had  gained  her? 

He  reached  the  Park ;  there  was  still  a  vivid 
greenness  in  the  grass,  though  the  trees  were  rich 
with  the  splendor  of  autumn.  He  wandered  along 
the  curving  paths,  feeling  no  pleasure,  but  pain,  in 
the  quiet  beauty  that  surrounded  him.  Keeping  to 
the  left,  where  there  seemed  to  be  fewer  saunterers 
like  himself,  he  found  himself  at  last  near  the  ex- 
treme northern  limit.  He  ascended  a  little  hill,  and 
on  its  summit,  beneath  the  golden  shade  of  a  group 
of  trees,  there  was  a  space  of  leaf-strewn  turf, 
on  which  he  4flung  himself  down.  The  rumble  of 
the  horse-cars  on  the  avenue  came  faintly  to  his 
ears,  and  now  and  then  the  voices  or  laughter  of 
people  passing  at  a  distance  ;  the  shadow  of  passing 
clouds  drifted  over  him,  and  ever  and  anon  a  golden 
leaf  detached  itself  from  a  bough  above  his  head, 
and  floated  wavering  earthward.  But  no  one  dis- 
turbed him,  though  he  lay  there  all  the  after- 
noon, sometimes  with  his  face  buried  on  his  arms, 
sometimes  supporting  his  head  upon  his  hand.  He 
wondered  what  she  had  been  doing  since  they 


184  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

parted.  Had  she  been  laughing  over  his  discom- 
fiture, and  planning  fresh  enterprises?  —  It  was  not 
possible  ! 

The  sun  went  down,  and  the  shadows  of  ^wilight 
rose.  Bellinghara  looked  toward  the  east,  and  saw 
the  disk  of  the  moon  mount  above  the  horizon, 
until  the  whole  round  sphere  swung  aloft,  orange 
against  the  violet  background.  The  evening  was 
mild  and  still,  but  the  lethargy  which  had  fallen 
upon  Bellingham  began  to  be  dispelled  ;  he  became 
restless  and  anxious.  He  could  no  longer  stay  where 
he  was  ;  he  descended  the  little  hill,  crossed  over  to 
the  avenue,  and,  still  going  north-westward,  came  to 
the  bank  of  the  Hudson.  The  bank  was  high  and 
steep  ;  he  clambered  down  it,  and  found  the  remains 
of  a  decayed  wooden  pier,  jutting  out  into  the 
water.  Upon  the  end  of  this  he  sat  down,  and  the 
silent  current  swept  and  eddied  past  his  feet.  The 
sound  ®F  a  clock  striking  somewhere  caught  his  ear. 
This  was  the  hour  for  her  to  arrive  at  the  theatre. 
A  little  while  longer  and  she  would  be  upon  the 
stage.  Would  she  look  toward  his  seat,  expecting 
to  see  him  there?  No,  she  would  never  expect  him 
again  !  Would  she  miss  him  ? 

More  than  another  hour  passed  away,  and  BeL- 
lingham  sat  so  still  that  one  might  have  fancied  he 
was  asleep.  But  he  was  not  asleep, — he  was  think- 
ing ;  and  now  his  thoughts  were  becoming  clearer 


BETRAYED  AND   SLANDERED.  185 

• 

and  more  consecutive  than  they  had  heretofore 
been.  The  moon  had  now  soared  high  aloft,  and 
stood  silvery  bright  above  the  sliding  reaches  of 
the  river. 

All  at  once  Bellingham  sprang  to  his  feet.  He 
pulled  out  his  watch ;  there  was  yet  time.  He 
began  hurriedly  to  climb  the  bank. 

It  had  been  borne  in  upon  him,  he  knew  not  how, 
with  a  sudden,  overwhelming  conviction,  that  she 
was  not  guilty,  but  pure  and  true  ;  that  the  mystery 
was  an  innocent  one ;  that  all  would  be  well,  if  he 
could  but  see  her  and  speak  to  her.  It  was  possible 
for  him  to  reach  the  theatre  before  she  left  it,  but  he 
must  use  diligence.  He  was  somewhat  faint  from 
lack  of  nourishment  during  the  day,  but  he  ran  on 
until  he  came  to  a  station  of  the  elevated  railway. 
He  entered  a  train,  and  was  off.  His  heart  was 
light  and  hopeful. 

The  train  halted  at  a  station  near  the:  rear  of 
the  theatre.  As  he  got  out,  he  saw  that  the  per- 
formance was  over,  and  the  audience  had  dis- 
persed. But  she  would  not  have  left  yet.  No ; 
there  was  her  carriage  waiting  for  her  at  the  stage- 
door. 

He  ran  down  the  iron  staircase,  but,  as  he  reached 
the  bottom,  he  stopped.  Mile.  Marana  came  out  of 
the  stage-door,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  a  man, — 
of  Mr.  Randolph.  Mrs.  Bemax  followed,  but 


186  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

entered  the  carriage  first.  Randolph  appeared  to 
exchange  a  few  words  with  the  prima  donna; 
then  she  turned  and  put  her  foot  on  the  carriage 
step. 

But,  as  if  swayed  by  a  sudden  and  incontrollable 
impulse,  she  turned  again,  and  threw  her  arms  about 
Randolph's  neck,  and  kissed  him  again  and  again. 
Bellingham  saw  this,  and  then  he  faced  about,  and 
mounted  the  iron  stairs  once  more,  while  a  mocking 
voice  in  his  heart  seemed  to  ask,  "  Are  you  satisfied 
now?" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WHAT   CONSEQUENCES   ENSUED. 

A  DAY  or  two  afterward,  the  architect  of  the  new 
-*-*-  opera-house,  discovering  that  nothing  in  the 
way  of  business  required  his  immediate  attention  in 
New  York,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  would  do 
well  to  go  away  from  it  for  a  while.  Since  he  be- 
gan to  practise  his  profession  he  had  never  had  a 
deliberate  vacation.  But  a  man  who  had  just  de- 
signed and  built  a  new  opera-house,  the  best  in  the 
world,  could  afford  to  take  a  rest,  even  were  there 
no  other  ground  for  doing  so.  Bellingham,  at  all 
events,  packed  his  trunk  and  took  passage  on  the 
"Arizona,"  bound  for  the  Old  World. 

His  departure  was  unexpected,  and  was  known  to 
but  few,  until  after  it  had  taken  place.  He  had  no 
idea  (as  he  told  Wallie  Dinsmorc)  how  long  he 
should  be  absent.  He  did  not  inform  his  friend  — 
though  the  reader,  from  whom  no  secrets  have  been 
hidden,  already  knows  it  —  as  to  the  true  cause  of 
his  going ;  but  Wallie,  who  was  naturally  observant 
and  endowed  with  much  sagacity,  may  have  partly 


188  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

divined  it.  Bellingham  felt  certain  that  his  return 
to  New  York  would  not  happen  while  Mile.  Marana 
remained  in  that  city.  If  her  engagement  were 
prolonged,  so  would  his  travels  be.  Were  she  to 
become  a  chronic  New  York  institution  he  would 
ultimately  set  up  his  head-quarters  elsewhere.  This 
determination  was  not  the  result  of  ordinary  weak- 
ness, for  Bellingham  would  have  suffered  pain  for  a 
good  end  ;  but  no  good  end  could  be  served  by  being 
brought  in  contact  with  a  woman  possessed  of  a 
unique  power  to  make  him  miserable.  It  is  not 
ordinarily  difficult  to  distinguish  between  good  and 
evil ;  but  it  was  not  easy  for  Bellingham  to  reconcile 
the  character  which  his  own  eyes  and  ears  assured 
him  Mile.  Marana  bore  with  the  pure  and  exquisite 
womanhood  which,  nevertheless,  appeared  to  be  hers. 
He  felt,  moreover,  that  it  would  be  dangerous  for 
him  to  meditate  too  much  on  this  grievous  anomaly ; 
to  do  so  might  result  in  bringing  about  a  sinister 
revolution  in  his  own  character.  The  moral  behavior 
of  the  best  of  mankind  is  much  more  liable  to  dis- 
turbance than  is  the  moral  conviction  of  even  very 
indifferent  persons.  A  murderer  may  (and  doubtless 
has  ere  now)  preached  a  moving  sermon  against  the 
degradation  of  homicide ;  and  Bellingham,  if  too 
sorely  tempted,  might  have  ended  by  accepting  as 
good  for  himself  what  was  hostile  both  to  God  and 
to  human  society.  This  admission  may  lower  him 


WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED.          189 

in  the  eyes  of  some  people.  But  Bellingham  did 
not  belong  to  their  category. 

So  he  crossed  the  ocean,  and,  instead  of  occupying 
himself,  as  he  should  have  done,  with  investigating 
the  monuments  of  architecture  of  ancient  and  mediaeval 
times,  or  in  conversing  with  Mr.  Ruskin  and  Norman 
Shaw,  he  stepped  aside  from  familiar  thoroughfares 
and  made  a  number  of  little  pedestrian  journeys  to 
places  which  nobody  ever  heard  of.  His  associates, 
when  he  had  any,  were  the  people  of  roadsides  and 
village  inns,  who  knew  him  not,  and  whose  names 
no  one  will  ever  know.  The  American  exodus  was 
over  for  the  season,  and  his  acquaintance  with  two 
or  three  of  the  Continental  languages  enabled  him  to 
pass  without  remark  among  the  nations  who  spoke 
them.  We  need  not  concern  ourselves  about  the 
particulars  of  his  itinerary,  which  will  probably  never 
be  followed  by  any  other  traveller.  It  is  enough  to 
say  that,  as  the  winter  advanced,  instead  of  taking 
refuge  in  Naples,  Algiers,  or  Egypt,  he  recollected 
a  certain  week  spent  ashore  during  his  seafaring  days, 
sixteen  or  seventeen  years  ago,  and  betook  himself 
to  an  ancient,  abandoned,  lovely  little  town  on  the 
southern  coast  of  Ireland. 

It  was  one  of  the  loveliest,  least  known,  and 
most  secluded  retreats  in  Europe.  The  gray  and 
ruinous  houses  were  overgrown  with  soft  green  moss, 
the  steep  and  narrow  streets  were  made  beautiful 


190  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

with  tender  rims  of  grass.  The  warm  breezes  brought 
hither  by  the  Gulf  Stream  gave  to  December  and 
January  the  gentle  geniality  of  an  English  spring. 
The  sparse  inhabitants  were  a  far-descended  race  of 
fishermen,  still  bearing  in  their  dark  complexions 
and  vigorous  forms  the  traces  of  their  handsome 
Spanish  ancestry.  Beneath  the  windows  of  the 
ancient  town  the  blue  expanse  of  a  landlocked  bay 
gave  back  the  changing  hues  of  sky  and  cloud ;  and 
without,  the  hectoring  surges  of  the  great  Atlantic 
dashed  themselves  against  the  tall  black  cliffs  of  the 
lofty  coast.  Through  the  clear  softness  of  the  at- 
mosphere common  objects  seemed  to  be  endowed  with 
a  subdued  richness  of  color  unknown  elsewhere. 
The  blue  jacket  of  the  fisherman,  steering  his  boat  in 
the  bay,  glowed  like  an  amethyst ;  the  age-darkened 
crimson  of  an  old  woman's  petticoat  looked  like  a 
ruby  in  the  sunshine.  The  forms  of  many  of  the 
houses  were  quaint  and  strange  with  mullioned 
windows  projecting  from  their  fronts,  and  dark 
archways  opening  into  inner  courts.  On  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  bay,  fronting  the  gray  amphitheatre 
of  the  town,  stood  the  ruins  of  an  antique  castle ; 
but,  from  its  moss-covered  battlements,  from  which 
of  old  cross-bowmen  shot  their  bolts,  and  the  sheen 
of  mediaeval  shield  and  helmet  glanced  in  the  sun,  — 
from  these  historic  walls  might  still  be  heard, 
morning  and  evening,  the  martial  call  and  rever- 


WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED.          191 

beration  of  trumpet  and  drum.  At  such  a  distance, 
and  subdued  by  such  surroundings,  the  sound  of 
these  warlike  instruments  seemed  rather  to  be  the 
ghostly  realization  of  the  spectator's  fancy  than  the 
veritable  reveille  and  tattoo  of  modern  soldiers. 
One  half  expected  to  see  march  forth  a  train  of 
knights  in  coats-of-mail,  instead  of  a  brisk  squad 
of  red-coated  British  regulars.  Nevertheless,  the 
Queen  of  England  had  established  a  detachment  of 
her  defenders  here,  presumably  to  keep  the  fish  in 
order,  and  to  see  that  the  pigs  and  hens  paid  their 
taxes.  But,  however  abstractly  incongruous,  these 
nineteenth-century  warriors  were  practically  harm- 
less and  picturesque.  The  magic  of  their  environ- 
ment overpowered  them. 

At  the  inn,  in  addition  to  a  most  engaging  land- 
lady with  a  couple  of  extremely  pretty  daughters, 
Bellingham  encountered,  to  his  agreeable  surprise, 
an  American  artist,  Helwise  by  name,  whom  he  had 
known  years  ago  in  New  York.  This  lonely  man 
of  genius  was,  it  appeared,  in  the  habit  of  spending 
the  winter  months  here,  transferring  to  canvas  the 
matchless  wealth  of  color  and  character  which  met 
him  at  every  turn.  He  was  of  a  grave,  kindly, 
meditative  nature,  but  brimming  over,  in  certain 
moods,  with  wit  and  philosophy,  and  the  fruits  of 
years  of  penetrating  and  amused  observation  of  human 
character  and  life.  Bellingham  and  he  suited  each 


192  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

other  well,  and  were  soon  conversing  with  the 
frankness  and  cordiality  of  a  friendship  long  in 
abeyance  but  never  forgotten.  Bellingham  inquired 
whether  there  were  any  other  countrymen  of  theirs 
in  the  town. 

"  It  is  like  the  region  Irving  tells  of  in  '  The 
Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities,'  "  Helwise  replied ; 
M  it  has  been  lost  for  ages,  and  nobody  knows  where 
it  is  except  myself.  That  is,  such  was  the  case 
until  about  three  weeks  ago.  But,  last  month,  two 
mysterious  strangers  made  their  appearance,  and 
have  betrayed  some  symptoms  of  intending  to  stay. 
I  should  have  had  them  expelled  (for  I  consider  this 
place  to  be  my  peculiar  and  inalienable  property) 
had  I  not  found  them  entertaining  as  a  study,  and 
admirably  disposed  to  keep  themselves  to  themselves. 
I  have  never  spoken  to  the  lady  at  all." 
"  Oh  !  Husband  and  wife  are  they  ?  " 
"  Apparently,  that  is  just  what  they  are  not.  No  ; 
I  don't  mean  to  insinuate — and  I  don't  believe  — 
that  they  ought  to  be.  I  should  suppose  they  might 
be  brother  and  sister,  only  they  are  of  different 
nationalities.  The  man  is  evidently  an  American, 
and  the  lady,  though  she  speaks  English  perfectly 
well,  evidently  is  not.  She  is  probably  four  or  five 
years  older  than  he,  and  has  a  certain  air  of  experi- 
ence. She  is  decidedly  handsome,  and  has  what  they 
call  distinguished  manners ;  that  is,  she  makes  you 


WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED.          193 

perceive  that  they  are  manners,  though  very  good 
ones.  She  had  rented  that  large  house  on  the  top 
of  the  hill." 

"She,  or  they?". 

"  She.  He  has  his  room  here,  and  turns  up 
every  night  at  ten  o'clock.  They  spend  the  day 
together ;  he  is  undoubtedly  in  love  with  her,  and 
she  seems  to  be  anything  but  indifferent  to  him. 
You  see,  it  isn't  an  ordinary  affair.  Here  they  are, 
buried  from  the  world  beyond  discovery,  and  they 
might  live  as  they  liked ;  and  yet  they  —  or  she  at 
any  rate  —  prefer  to  conduct  themselves  in  this 
anomalous  fashion.  There  is  some  mystery  in  it, 
my  dear  Geoffrey,  —  some  deep,  dark,  inscrutable 
mystery !  They  are  known  respectively  as  Mr. 
Edwardes  and  Mrs.  Peters,  but  I  have  an  idea  they 
call  each  other  something  else.  One  theory  of  mine 
about  them  was,  that  she  was  a  younger  sister  of 
his  mother ;  his  father,  you  know,  might  have 
married  a  foreign  woman.  In  that  case,  she  would 
be  his  aunt,  and  the  mystery  would  be  solved ; 
but,  as  I  said  before,  they  are  plainly  in  love,  and 
nephews  and  aunts  neither  fall  in  love  nor  marry, 
so  far  as  my  experience  goes.  Come,  you  are  fresh 
from  the  States  ;  can  you  guess  ?  " 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Bcllingham  ;  and  the  conver- 
sation took  another  turn. 

That  afternoon  the  friends  walked  out  together, 


194  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

and  Helwise  exhibited  to  his  companion,  with  a 
humorous  pride  of  proprietorship,  the  innumerable 
points  of  beauty  in  the  town  and  neighborhood. 
As  they  clambered  up  and  down  the  craggy  streets 
the  artist  kept  exchanging  playful  and  good-hu- 
mored greetings  with  the  peasant  inhabitants  ;  for 
he  knew  them  all,  and  had  bought  their  old  hats  and 
shawls  and  petticoats  and  household  goods,  partly 
and  ostensibly  as  properties  for  his  pictures,  and 
partly  and  largely  as  disguised  charity  to  their 
owners ;  and  he  was  loved  and  honored  by  them 
all.  At  length  they  emerged  on  a  sort  of  terrace,  — 
a  level  breadth  of  turf  a  couple  of  acres  in  extent, 
with  an  antique  stone  balustrade  along  the  front, 
and  overshadowed  by  a  double  belt  of  venerable 
elms.  They  seated  themselves  on  the  balustrade, 
and  looked  out  across  the  enchanting  panorama  of 
town  and  bay,  and  the  castle  and  the  bare  hills  be- 
yond. A  mellow  sunshine  streamed  across  the 
grass,  and  the  air  was  as  mild  as  May.  A  fishing- 
smack  was  rounding  the  headland  from  the  offing, 
and  a  little  knot  of  fishermen  were  watching  its  ap- 
proach from  the  wharf. 

Suddenly  Helwise,  who  had  been  looking  toward 
the  southern  approach  to  the  terrace,  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  There  come  the  mysteries.  Now  you  can 
judge  for  yourself." 

Bellingham  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  iiidi- 


WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED.          195 

cated,  and  saw  a  man  and  woman  approaching 
slowly,  side  by  side.  They  seemed  to  be  conversing 
intermittently,  and,  as  they  walked,  her  shoulder 
occasionally  brushed  his  arm,  and  their  glances  con- 
stantly met.  The  man  seemed  to  be  under  twenty- 
five  years  of  age  ;  he  was  tall  and  of  active  and  of 
rather  slender  build,  and  as  he  approached,  Belling- 
ham  noticed  that  his  features  were  of  a  bold  and 
striking  cast,  with  bright  and  somewhat  intolerant 
eyes.  His  expression,  at  the  present  moment,  was 
troubled  and  gloomy ;  he  frequently  looked  on  the 
ground  and  struck  the  pebbles  from  his  path  with  a 
stick.  He  would  speak  a  few  sentences  at  a  time, 
energetically  and  rapidly  ;  then  relapse  into  a  moody 
silence,  responding  by  a  shake  of  the  head  or  other 
brief  gesture  to  the  discourse  of  his  companion. 
The  latter  was  a  woman  whose  aspect  (if  the  distinc- 
tion be  permissible)  was  younger  than  her  looks. 
Her  face  and  figure  were  youthful,  but  her  bearing 
and  gestures  were  mature.  Her  features  were  of  a 
clear  paleness,  regular  in  outline,  and  of  remarkable 
beauty.  Something  in  her  aspect  enchained  Bel- 
lingham's  regard  ;  she  did  not  resemble  any  woman 
he  had  seen,  and  yet  she  reminded  him,  in  some 
intangible,  elusive  way,  of  a  woman  whom  he  wished 
to  forget.  She  was  different,  —  different  at  every 
point ;  and  yet,  if  he  turned  away  and  glanced  at 
her  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  there  was  an  inde- 


196  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

scribable  likeness.  Was  it  the  way  she  had  of  slowly 
lifting  her  chin  ?  Was  it  the  slope  of  her  shoulders  ? 
Was  it  in  the  way  the  soft  hair  grew  on  the  nape  of 
her  white  neck?  Was  it  in  the  smile  that  lighted 
her  eyes  before  it  touched  her  lips  ?  It  was  all  of 
these  things  —  it  was  none  of  them  !  After  a  min- 
ute, Bellingham  forcibly  dismissed  the  question  from 
his  mind.  Of  what  earthly  consequence  was  it? 
Here  were  a  good-looking  woman  and  an  enamored 
young  man, — a  common  sight  enough.  They 
seemed  to  be  in  love  with  each  other,  as  Helwise 
had  said ;  but,  while  the  gentleman  had  evidently 
lost  his  head,  the  lady  was  entirely  self-possessed. 
She  appeared  to  be  amused,  superficially,  at  some 
extravagance  or  perversity  in  her  companion,  but 
there  was  an  underlying  sadness  or  anxiety  percep- 
tible when  her  face  was  at  rest.  She  had  the  air  of 
trying  to  make  him  take  some  step,  or  comprehend 
something,  which  he  refused  to  do  or  understand. 
As  they  passed,  the  young  man  glanced  for  a 
moment  toward  Helwise,  and  nodded  recognition. 
The  lady  did  not  turn,  nor  evince  consciousness  of 
the  presence  of  any  third  party.  They  slowly  trav- 
ersed the  length  of  the  terrace,  and  disappeared 
through  the  gateway  at  the  farther  end. 

"  She  knows  how  to  dress,"  remarked  Bellingham. 

"  And  how  to  walk,"  added  Helwise.  "  She  must 
have  learned  that  on  the  stage." 


WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED.          197 

"An  actress,  then,  you  think?" 

"Yea;  or  an  opera-singer,  perhaps.  Well,  what 
do  you  think  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"He  hasn't  money  enough,  maybe,"  said  Belling- 

i  ham ;  "  or  perhaps  she  likes  him  too  well  to  marry 

him.     A  woman  like  that  knows  that  an  ounce  of 

imagination  is  worth  a  pound  of  reality  —  both  to 

her  and  to  him  !  " 

"  You  have  studied  women  since  I  knew  you 
last,"  remarked  Helwise  with  a  smile. 

"If  I  have,"  replied  Geoffrey,  ".they  have  only 
taught  me  to  disbelieve  the  little  I  ever  thought  I 
knew.  Come,  let  us  be  moving." 

That  night  Bellingham  dreamt  vividly  of  Mile. 
Marana,  and  his  dream  awakened  him  before  dawn, 
in  great  distress  of  mind.  He  imagined  that  he  was 
walking  across  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  which,  on  this 
occasion,  extended  from  the  roof  of  the  opera-house 
in  New  York  to  the  parapet  of  the  terrace  where  he 
had  sat  with  Helwise  that  afternoon.  The  bridge 
was  unfinished,  and  he  was  obliged  to  make  the 
transit  on  a  series  of  precarious  planks,  irregularly 
disposed.  When  midway  across  the  Atlantic,  whose 
angry  roar  reached  his  ears  from  the  immeasurable 
depth  beneath,  he  saw,  walking  before  him,  the 
figure  of  a  woman,  in  whom  he  at  once  recog- 
nized Mile.  Marana.  He  hastened  to  overtake  her, 
for  she  seemed  in  imminent  danger  of  falling.  Just 


198  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

as  he  was  on  the  point  of  reaching  her,  however, 
the  plank  on  which  he  stood  gave  way,  and  at  the 
same  moment  she  whom  he  had  meant  to  save 
tottered  and  fell.  He  closed  his  eyes  for  an  instant ; 
then  he  felt  his  arm  seized  by  some  one  from  behind, 
and,  looking  round,  he  found  himself  standing  on 
the  stage  of  the  opera-house,  with  Marana  herself 
before  him,  in  the  costume  of  Marguerite,  with  a 
bunch  of  daisies  in  her  girdle.  He  heard  the  ap- 
plause of  the  audience,  like  the  roar  of  the  sea,  and 
perceived  that  the  performance  was  going  forward, 
and  that  he,  instead  of  being  properly  attired,  was 
in  his  every-day  dress.  It  came  across  his  mind 
also  that  the  figure  he  had  mistaken  for  Marana  was 
Mephistopheles,  disguised  to  mislead  him.  He 
looked  at  Marguerite;  her  face  was  deadly  pale ; 
she  said  below  her  breath,  "  You  did  not  believe  in 
me  ;  do  you  know  who  "  —  Her  voice  died  away  ; 
the  lights  were  suddenly  extinguished,  and  in  the 
silence  and  darkness  Bellingham  awoke. 

Too  much  disturbed  to  sleep  again  —  for  the 
dream,  grotesquely  extravagant  though  it  was,  had 
seemed  absolutely  real  to  him  —  he  got  up,  lit  a 
pipe,  and  sat  smoking  at  his  window,  watching  the 
dawn  slowly  illuminate  the  eastern  sky. 

He  took  an  early  breakfast  and  went  for  a  solitary 
walk  along  the  coast,  and,  from  the  summit  of  a 
lofty  headland,  saw  a  great  ocean  steamer  pass  west- 


WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED.          199 

ward  through  the  gray  sea.  She  was  bound  for 
New  York.  As  he  watched  her  dimmish  and  vanish 
in  the  distance,  till  only  a  faint  plume  of  smoke  re- 
mained on  the  far  horizon,  for  the  first  time  since 
his  journey  began  he  was  conscious  of  an  urgent 
longing  to  return, — to  return  at  once.  The  un- 
finished question  in  his  dream  kept  ringing  in  his 
ears  ;  it  assumed  a  momentous  importance  ;  he  must 
know  what  it  meant.  He  laughed  at  his  own 
absurdity,  but  the  longing  remained.  At  last  he 
returned  to  the  inn. 

He  found  Helwise  painting  in  the  room  he  used 
as  a  studio ;  he  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  slippers 
down  at  the  heel  were  on  his  feet,  and  he  wore  an 
old  straw  hat  to  shade,  his  eyes  from  the  light.  He 
was  whistling  softly  to  himself,  and  would  turn  his 
head  on  one  side  after  putting  a  touch  on  the  canvas. 

"Did  you  hear  any  noise  last  night?"  he  asked, 
after  they  had  chatted  for  a  while. 

"  I  had  a  bad  dream.     What  was  it  ?  " 

"  That  young  fellow  who  calls  himself  Edwardes. 
His  room  is  next  to  mine.  He  came  in  a  little  later 
than  usual  last  night,  and  by  and  by  I  fancied  I 
heard  him  crying.  I  was  debating  whether  I  ought 
to  go  in  and  see  what  was  the  matter,  when  he 
knocked  at  my  door.  He  looked  badly  cut  up ;  I 
made  him  sit  down  and  gave  him  some  whiskey  and 
a  cigarette.  He  seems  to  be  in  a  scrape." 


200  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

"  Did  he  explain  the  mystery  ?  " 

"Well,  he  talked  somewhat.  He  fell  in  love 
with  this  woman  in  Moscow.  From  what  he  said  I 
judge  she  is  an  actress,  or  a  singer,  as  we  were 
saying  yesterday.  She  is  a  public  character  of  some 
kind,  and  has  had  adventures  before  this.  She  took 
a  great  fancy  to  him ;  so  he  says,  and  I  believe 
him.  But  it  seems  to  have  been  somewhat  as  you 
suggested :  she  liked  him  too  well  to  let  him  have 
his  way.  She  wouldn't  risk  a  disillusionment ; 
perhaps  her  heart  had  never  been  touched  before. 
She  would  not  marry  him,  either;  for  that  matter, 
I  suppose  the  one  thing  is  about  the  same  to  her  as 
the  other.  But  she  did  an  odd  thing,  —  she  offered 
to  suspend  her  career  (whatever  it  is)  and  be  with 
him  as  long  as  he  wished ;  and  she  appears  to  have 
given  up  some  important  pecuniary  advantages  to  do 
so.  He  accepted  her  offer,  thinking  no  doubt  that 
she  would  capitulate  in  due  time,  in  the  meanwhile 
taking  care  that  she  should  lose  nothing  in  the  way 
of  money.  He  represented  himself  to  her  as  inex- 
haustibly wealthy,  and  she  took  him  at  his  word. 
But  the  fact  is,  after  he  had  spent  a  hundred  thou- 
sand or  so,  and  ruined  his  father  and  sister  (as  he 
tells  me),  there  was  no  more  left.  He  Avas  ashamed 
to  confess  this  to  her,  and  it  is  only  within  the  last 
few  days,  when  he  had  got  down  to  his  last  fifty- 
pound  note,  that  she  found  it  out." 


WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED.          201 

"And  now  she  means  to  shake  him,  —  is  that  it?" 
said  Belli ngham. 

"  Well,  apparently  not.  She  seems  to  have  plenty 
of  money  herself,  and  she  has  made  him  a  proposi- 
tion which  does  her  credit.  She  has  proposed  to 
marry  him  and  pay  back  the  money  that  he  has 
spent  on  her.  I  have  begun  to  fall  in  love  with  her 
myself!  And  I  may  do  it,  if  she'll  have  me;  for 
Mr.  Edwardes'  pride,  as  he  calls  it,  would  not  allow 
him  to  accept  her  proposal,  and  hence  his  misery, 
which,  at  one  time  last  night,  assumed  quite  a 
suicidal  complexion ;  but  I  remonstrated  with  him, 
and  he  felt  a  little  better  this  morning." 

While  they  were  sitting  there,  the  door  was 
suddenly  opened,  and  in  came  young  Mr.  Edwardes 
himself,  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  He  had  a 
newspaper  in  his  hand. 

"  Did  you  know  what  was  in  this  paper  ? " 
demanded  he,  striding  up  to  Helwise. 

"  What  one  generally  finds  in  a  New  York  Sunday 
paper,  two  weeks  old,"  returned  Helwise,  tipping 
back  his  hat,  and  looking  up  at  him.  "  This  is  Mr. 
Bellingham,  Mr.  Edwardes." 

The  latter  looked  at  the  architect,  and  seemed 
to  hesitate  whether  or  not  to  proceed ;  but  the 
emotion  by  which  he  was  possessed  was  too  much 
for  him ;  he  went  on.  "  It  says  here,"  he  ex- 
claimed, holding  the  paper  toward  Helwise,  with 


202  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

his  finger  on  the  paragraph,"  that  —  here,  read  it 
yourself ! " 

Helwise  took  the  paper  and  read  :  "  Mile.  Marana, 
the  great  Russian  prima  donna,  who  has  endeared 
herself  to  all  New  Yorkers  during  the  past  season  by 
her  charming  behavior  as  well  as  by  her  unrivalled 
musical  powers,  will  next  month  bring  to  a  close 
the  most  successful  engagement  ever  known  in  this 
city.  Mile.  Marana  has  lately  been  in  delicate 
health.  To  those  of  thousands  of  her  friends  and 
admirers,  we  add  our  own  cordial  hopes  that  she  may 
return  to  us  next  spring  with  renewed  strength  and 
energy.  Meanwhile  we  shall  not  look  upon  her 
like  again." 

"Is  that  the  paragraph  you  mean ?"  asked  Helwise, 
looking  up.  "  What's  the  trouble  with  it  ?  " 

"  Only  that  there's  no  such  person  as  Mile. 
Marana  in  New  York,  nor  ever  was,  —  that's 
all ! "  cried  out  the  young  gentleman,  in  a  violent 
tone. 

"  You're  mistaken,  sir,"  put  in  Bellingham.  "  I'm 
personally  acquainted  with  Mile.  Marana,  and  have 
heard  her  sing  in  New  York  this  season  a  score  of 
times." 

"You  heard  an  impostor,  then!"  returned  the 
other  angrily.  "  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about. 
Good  God !  don't  I  know  who  the  Marana  is  ? " 

"Keep  your  coat  on,  young  man,"  said  Helwise, 


WHAT  CONSEQUENCES  ENSUED.          203 

with  a  quiet  laugh.  "Possibly  you  are  mistaken, 
instead  of  Mr.  Bellingham." 

"  "Well,  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,"  said 
Edwardes,  putting  a  restraint  on  himself,  and  speak- 
ing in  an  agitated  voice.  "If  you  only  knew,  you 
would  pardon  me.  But  look  here,  sir,  —  Mr.  Bell- 
ingham, —  I'll  tell  you.  I  met  Mile.  Marana  in 
Moscow  last  summer  ;  she  —  well,  the  truth  is,  she's 
the  lady  who  is  here  with  me  now.  She  had  an 
engagement  with  a  fellow  named  Inigo  to  sing  this 
season  in  New  York,  for  four  thousand  dollars  a 
night,  and  —  she  gave  it  up  because  I  asked  her.  I 
guess  there  isn't  more  than  one  Marana  in  this  world  ! 
There's  only  one  woman  alive  who  could  sing  any- 
where near  her,  and  that's  my  own  sister,  —  whom  I 
ruined  and  disgraced,  by  George  !  "  Here,  in  spite 
of  his  struggles  to  prevent  them,  tears  forced  them- 
selves into  the  young  gentleman's  eyes,  and  he  sat 
down  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  And  now,  to 
think,"  he  cried  out,  starting  up  again  and  walking 
to  and  fro  in  the  room,  "  to  think,  after  all  she's 
done  for  me,  that  scoundrel  Inigo  should  trump  up 
an  impostor  to  take  her  place  !  By  George,  I'll 
bring  him  to  book,  if  I  live  another  fortnight !  " 

"You  are  making  a  singular  accusation,  Mr. 
Edwardes,"  said  Bellingham,  sternly.  "  Will  you 
vouch  for  its  accuracy?" 

"Yes,  I  will  vouch  for  it,  Mr.  Bellingham,"  re- 


204  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

turned  the  other,  facing  him ;  "  and  my  name  is  not 
Edwardes.  I've  had  enough  of  this  humbug. 
There's  my  card,  sir." 

Bellingham  took  the  card.  "Edward  Randolph," 
he  read,  and  paused.  He  looked  at  the  young  man 
curiously. 

"  May  I  ask  your  father's  name  ? "  he  said  at 
length. 

"  Alexander  Randolph,"  Edward  replied. 

"  A  tall  man,  about  fifty-five,  with  gray  mustache 
and  imperial?" 

"  That's  the  man  !     Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"I have  met  him.  You  had  better  go  home  and 
look  after  him,"  said 'Bellingham,  gravely,  "and  get 
your  Mile.  Maranato  go  with  you." 

Bellingham  left  for  Liverpool  the  same  evening, 
and  took  passage  for  New  York  two  'days  later. 
Edward  Randolph  and  Mile.  Marana  sailed  the  same 
day  on  another  steamer ;  and  they  all  arrived  at 
their  destination  within  ten  days  afterward. 


CHAPTER 

WHAT   HAPPENED   TO   HER    IN   THE    MEANWHILE. 

TTAMILTOX  JOCELYN  was  an  intelligent 
man,  who  could  put  two  and  two  together. 
He  had  observed  with  anxiety  the  progress  of  the 
acquaintance  between  Bellingham  and  the  prima 
donna  and  was  casting  about  in  his  mind  how  to 
put  a  stop  to  it,  when  Bellingham  suddenly  dis- 
appeared. He  would  have  inferred  that  he  must 
have  proposed  to  mademoiselle  and  been  refused, 
had  not  the  latter's  aspect  plainly  showed  that  she 
was  suffering  quite  as  much  as  Bellingham  could 
be  supposed  to  be.  Jocelyn's  acuteness  was  not 
of  a  fine  enough  order  to  enable  him  to  hit  upon 
the  real  explanation.  But  the  fact  that  appre- 
hension on  that  score  was  removed  was  patent 
enough,  and  contented  him  for  the  present.  The 
episode  also  admonished  him  that  it  was  full  time  he 
himself  took  a  leading  and  a  winning  hand  in  the 
game. 

It  cannot  be  affirmed  that  he  had  laid  any  definite 
scheme  for  the  capture  of  the  young  diva ;  such  a 
thing  is  hardly  practicable  in  the  conditions  of 


206  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

modern  society ;  too  many  incalculable  elements  are 
involved.  But  he  had  taken  pains  to  arm  himself 
with  all  the  advantages  at  his  command.  In  the  first 
place  he  had  placed  her  under  an  apparent  debt  of 
gratitude.  It  was  he  who  had  revealed  her  exist- 
ence to  Inigo,  and  brought  about  her  engagement. 
It  was  he  who  had  smoothed  the  way  for  her,  at- 
tended to  the  details  of  her  establishment  and  con- 
stituted himself  her  honorary  business  agent.  That 
he  was  also  an  honorable  agent  it  was  not  open  to 
her  to  doubt ;  his  proceedings  must  have  appeared  to 
her  in  the  light  of  disinterested  zeal ;  and  she  must 
have  been  strengthened  in  this  view  by  the  consid- 
eration that  her  refusal  of  his  offer  of  marriage 
might,  with  some  men,  have  led  to  very  different 
behavior.  He  was  returning  her  good  for  evil,  and 
she  owed  him  more  than  she  could  ever  repay. 

This  was  not  all ;  he  stood  to  her  somewhat  in 
the  place  of  a  defender  and  a  refuge.  Her  father 
being  placed  hors  de  combat  by  the  conditions  of 
her  operatic  existence,  it  was  Jocelyn  who  acted  as 
the  medium  between  her  and  the  world ;  who  ex- 
plained to  her  the  perils  she  was  to  encounter,  and 
supplied  her  with  advice  and  encouragement  as  to 
her  conduct.  He  led  her  on  to  refer  to  him  in  all 
difficulties  and  dilemmas  ;  to  look  at  him  as  her  lay 
confessor ;  to  confide  unreservedly  in  his  discretion 
and  affection.  Given  this  situation,  and  taking  into 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  HER.  207 

consideration,  moreover,  those  personal  fascinations 
which  Mr.  Jocelyn  could  not  but  be  aware  that  he 
possessed,  it  will  be  seen  that  he  was  not  without 
grounds  for  anticipating  a  favorable  issue.  Fortune, 
too,  seemed  inclined  to  take  up  Jocelyn's  cause,  if 
there  be  truth  in  the  proverb  that  many  a  heart  is 
caught  in  the  rebound.  The  diva's  disastrous  part- 
ing with  Bellingham  had  paralyzed,  so  to  say,  the 
nicety  of  her  discrimination  ;  one  man  was  much  the 
same  to  her  as  another,  since  none  of  them  could 
give  her  what  she  had  lost.  Besides,  the  strong  stimu- 
lus of  a  true  love,  being  suddenly  withdrawn,  leaves  a 
craving  the  pain  of  which  one  strives  instinctively  to 
assuage  by  means  of  the  first  anodyne  that  comes  to 
hand.  For  a  certain  time  after  Bellingham's  de- 
parture the  prima  donna  was  in  a  frame  of  mind 
that  might  have  led  to  unhappy  consequences.  Her 
moral  outlook  no  longer  commanded  its  customary 
horizon.  She  seemed  to  be  hurrying  confusedly 
along  toward  no  goal  in  particular,  surrounded  by  a 
medley  of  persons  and  things  with  which  she  felt 
no  sympathy,  yet  which  constituted,  such  as  they 
were,  her  whole  world.  What  was  she  to  do?  To 
live,  one  must  take  or  feign  an  interest  in  something. 
Music  was  much,  but  the  wound  in  her  heart  was 
still  too  fresh  for  music  to  be  everything.  She 
needed  human  countenance  and  association.  "Who, 
then,  should  be  her  associates?  Who  else  could 


208  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

they  be  but  the  men  and  women  whom  she  met  and 
spoke  with  every  day?  There  were  scores  of  fash- 
ionable and  wealthy  young  fellows  like  Mr.  Witman  ; 
there  were  dozens  of  so-called  prominent  men  like 
Mr.  Knight,  the  politician ;  there  were  newspaper 
reporters,  English  aristocrats,  not  to  mention  the 
retinue  of  bassos,  tenors,  and  baritones  of  the  oper- 
atic stage.  It  would  be  only  too  easy  for  her  to  be 
on  the  best  of  terms  with  any  or  all  of  these  people, 
but  what  would  be  the  result  ?  In  several  cases  she 
had  already  discovered  by  experiment  what  the  re- 
sult was.  She  had  been  subjected  to  a  more  or  less 
gracefully  disguised  insult  and  had  passionately  re- 
sented it ;  and  the  memory  of  these  insults  stayed 
with  her  like  stains  upon  her  soul,  the  mere  knowl- 
edge that  they  had  occurred  affecting  her  like  a  sin. 
But  what  was  the  use  of  being  so  sensitive  ?  Nobody 
else  seemed  to  mind  such  things.  Madame  Bemax 
smilingly  declared  that  they  were  a  matter  of  course  ; 
that  ladies  in  the  profession  never  allowed  such  af- 
fairs to  annoy  them ;  that  they  were  considered  a 
compliment,  and  that  the  recipients  of  such  compli- 
ments were  objects  of  envy  to  others.  And  so  far 
as  the  prima  donna  had  investigated  the  grounds 
of  these  assertions  for  herself,  it  must  be  confessed  that 
she  found  more  evidence  than  was  agreeable  in  their 
support.  Young  persons,  on  the  threshold  of  ex- 
perience, generalize  recklessly,  and  the  prima  don- 


WHAT  HAPPENED   TO  HER.  209 

na  began  to  ask  herself  whether  she  were  the  only 
person  in  the  world  who  believed  that  goodness  was 
anything  more  than  a  theory ;  apd,  if  so,  whether  it 
were  more  likely  that  she,  or  all  the  rest  of  the 
world,  was  mistaken?  Alas!  even  her  sage  and 
mentor,  the  faithful  Jocelyn  himself,  would  take 
her  hand  and  pat  it  soothingly,  and  vow  that  sho 
took  things  too  seriously  —  "too  much  au  pied  de 
la  lettre,  you  know,  my  dear  girl !  "  She  sometimes 
wondered  whether  he  realized  what  it  actually  was 
that  so  seriously  affected  her.  She  could  not  tell 
him  in  so  many  words.  Did  he  know?  He  had 
recommended  Madame  Bemax  as  a  person  to  be 
implicitly  depended  on.  Nevertheless,  after  due 
reflection,  the  prima  donna  generally  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  poor  Mr.  Jocelyn  was  a  rather 
innocent,  unsuspecting  old  gentleman,  who  knew  not 
half  so  much  about  the  perversity  of  things  as  she 
herself  did  ! 

To  other  critics  it  might  have  seemed  that  Jocelyn's 
conduct  in  this  respect  did  not  redound  to  his  credit. 
If  he  honestly  loved  the  young  lady,  and  hoped  to 
marry  her,  why  did  he  seek  to  dull  her  sensitive- 
ness to  evil  ?  Why  did  he  put  her  under  the  influence 
of  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Bemax?  Why  did  he  obtain 
the  means  for  gratifying  his  taste  for  fine  wines  and 
luxurious  living  by  appropriating  the  fourth  or  fifth 
part  of  her  earnings?  Was  this  the  way  a  man 


210  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

would  treat  the  woman  he  desired  to  make  his  wife  ? 
Might  it  not  be  conceivable  that  he  cherished  some 
sort  of  grudge  against  her  for  having  rejected  his 
previous  overtures,  and  was  aiming  to  salve  his 
wounded  self-esteem  by  matching  his  mature  cunning 
against  her  innocence? 

In  this  world,  where  so  many  unpleasant  things 
occur,  it  is  the  part  of  wisdom  and  charity  not  to 
believe  too  resolutely  in  the  evil  which  has  not 
reached  practical  consummation.  We  may,  therefore, 
give  Jocelyn  the  benefit  of  every  doubt  appertaining 
to  his  conduct.  Very  likely,  like  a  thousand  other 
men  in  similar  positions,  he  did  not  himself  know 
exactly  what  he  wanted.  To  return  to  our  earlier 
simile,  he  liked  to  hold  strong  cards,  and,  even  if 
he  forbore  to  take  the  trick,  to  feel  that  he  might  do 
so  if  he  chose.  But  there  is  a  magnetism  in  such 
affairs  which  affects  the  experimenter  as  much  in 
one  way,  as  it  does  the  victim  in  another ;  he  is 
mastered  most  when  he  fancies  himself  most  the 
master.  Jocelyn  had  never  practised  control  of 
anything  in  himself,  except  the  expression  of  his  face 
and  the  tones  of  his  voice ;  he  merely  had  impulses 
and  tendencies,  which  were  generally  more  or  less 
selfish,  and  which  he  never  thought  of  restraining  or 
correcting,  but,  at  most,  he  would  disguise  them  in 
respectable  habiliments ;  he  had  no  faculty  of  sys- 
tematized thought  and  reflection ;  his  object  was  to 


WHAT  HAPPENED   TO  HER.  211 

slip  through  life  easily  and  lightly,  rewarded  by 
little  patters  of  applause ;  he  had  the  insanity  of 
conventions ;  that  is,  he  most  wished  to  do  what- 
ever most  people  did.  He  was  a  first-rate  fellow, 
just  the  man  to  take  your  arm  up  Fifth  avenue  on 
Sunday  morning,  and  to  have  down  to  supper  at 
Delmonico's,  after  the  theatre.  He  won't  take 
offence  at  anything  you  can  say  to  him,  and  he  can 
put  you  up  to  all  sorts  of  points. 

After  Bellingham  was  gone,  and  had  left  a  clear 
field  for  him,  Jocelyn  insensibly  began  to  draw 
nearer  to  the  object  of  his  attentions.  He  talked  to 
her  a  great  deal  about  her  profession,  about  the 
prerogatives  of  genius,  and  the  peculiar  privileges 
permitted  to  the  artistic,  and  especially  to  the  musi- 
cal temperament.  He  launched  into  philosophical 
speculations  about  the  constitution  of  society,  and 
demonstrated  what  a  gigantic  tyranny  the  marriage 
covenant  was  as  at  present  administered.  The  time 
would  come,  he  declared,  when  we  should  look  back 
upon  such  a  state  of  things  with  wonder  mingled  with 
disgust.  Consider  the  immense  number  of  divorces 
and  scandals  that  were  coming  to  light  in  all  degrees 
of  the  social  scale ;  what  were  they  but  the  blind 
and  inarticulate  protest  of  the  individual  against  the 
selfish  injustice  of  the  majority?  What  was  the 
remedy  for  these  abuses  ?  Did  it  not  lie  in  the  hands 
of  the  superior  persons  in  the  world,  — of  those  who 


212  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

could  see  through  the  show  of  things,  who  were 
clear-headed,  and  possessed  the  courage  of  their 
convictions  ?  Let  them  lead  the  way.  Doubtless 
they  would  be  pursued  by  the  sneers  and  slanders  of 
fools  and  bigots  ;  but  fools  and  bigots  had  ever  been 
the  foes  of  progress  and  enlightenment.  We,  who 
take  broader  and  profounder  views,  can  afford  to 
disregard  their  clamor.  We  (said  Jocelyn,  taking 
tb&prima  donna's  hand  in  his,  and  stroking  it  gently) 
can  set  them  the  example  of  courage  and  indepen- 
dence, which  will  sooner  or  later  be  followed.  It  is 
not  merely  our  privilege,  but  our  duty,  and  it  would 
be  base  for  us  to  shrink  from  it. 

The  prima  donna  withdrew  her  hand  as  unobtru- 
sively as  she  could,  and  asked  her  mentor  what 
objection  there  was  to  marriage,  if  people  loved 
each  other?  He  replied,  that  if  they  loved  each 
other,  what  was  the  use  of  marriage  ?  She  rejoined, 
that  for  two  persons  to  love  each  other,  was  for 
them  to  feel  that  they  must  belong  to  each  other  for- 
ever ;  and  that  marriage  was  simply  their  open 
declaration,  before  God  and  man,  of  the  existence  of 
this  feeling  in  their  hearts.  To  make  such  a  declara- 
tion was,  she  conceived,  a  natural  and  inevitable 
impulse ;  and  it  was  natural  and  expedient  that  it 
should  be  made  according  to  certain  forms,  the 
gradual  outcome  of  tradition  and  custom.  Therefore, 
she  thought  marriage  was  not  so  much  an  injustice  of 


WHAT  HAPPENED   TO  HER.  213 

society  to  the  individual,  as  a  demand  made  by  the 
individual  that  society  be  the  witness  and  a  voucher 
of  his  covenant.  But  Jocelyn  hereupon  pointed  out 
that  a  covenant  always  implied  a  binding  promise, 
involving  penalties  if  it  were  broken  ;  that  this,  again, 
implied  distrust  in  the  power  of  pure  love  to  hold  its 
own,  and  that  any  outside  pressure  brought  to  bear 
upon  a  passion  essentially  so  freo  as  love,  must  tend 
to  promote  the  very  reaction  and  revolt  which  it  pro- 
fessed to  guard  against.  She  made  answer  that  the 
covenant  of  marriage  was  not  a  bondage,  and  had  not 
that  effect  upon  the  parties  to  it ;  but  that  to  make 
one's  happiness  known  to  others  endowed  it  with  a 
reality  and  substance  which  were  else  wanting  to  it ; 
that  every  person  one  met  tacitly  or  explicitly  con- 
firmed it,  reechoed  it,  and  assured  it,  and  that  the 
wedded  state  would  consequently  lose  half  its  delight 
and  security  if  it  existed,  for  example,  between  two 
persons  on  a  desert  island,  debarred  from  ever  com- 
municating the  fact  of  their  mutual  relation  to  others. 
Jocelyn  here  changed  his  ground  (the  better  to 
convey  his  meaning)  and  put  it  to  his  interlocutor 
whether  a  large  percentage  of  marriages  were  not 
notoriously  unhappy ;  and,  this  being  admitted, 
whether  it  were  not  thereby  demonstrated  that  a  great 
many  marriages  were  a  mistake  ?  She  answered  that 
even  if  all  marriages  which  had  ever  occurred  were 
mistakes,  that  would  not  prove  that  marriage  itself 


214  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

was  a  mistake,  but  only  that  the  wedded  partners 
had  been  mistaken  in  each  other.  Upon  his  main- 
taining that  every  institution  must  be  judged  by  its 
practical  application,  she  rejoined  that  if  there  were 
no  such  thing  as  love,  there  was  an  end  to  all  argu- 
ment about  it.  He  said  that  love  did  unquestionably 
exist,  and  that  it  was  the  strongest  and  most  endur- 
ing passion  of  the  human  heart ;  but  that  it  by  no 
means  followed  that  we  could  always  love  the  same 
person  with  equal  fervor.  Life  was  growth,  and 
love,  which  was  the  essence  of  life,  must  therefore  be 
subject  to  growth  likewise.  As  we  developed,  as 
our  minds  and  capacities  expanded,  we  put  aside  the 
things  of  our  less  mature  time,  and  embraced  the 
interests  and  the  loves  corresponding  to  our  larger 
sphere.  There  was  one  love  for  childhood,  another 
for  youth,  another  for  the  prime  of  life.  The  greater 
a  person's  inherent  scope  and  energy,  the  finer  his 
organization,  the  more  often  would  he  find  it 
necessary  to  change  the  object  of  his  affections.  To 
do  so  was  not  in  opposition  to  true  morality,  but 
in  obedience  to  it ;  but  society,  consulting  solely  its 
own  selfish  convenience,  had  artificially  and  arbi- 
trarily made  such  acts  criminal,  and  had  thereby 
bewildered  and  mortally  injured  myriads  of  innocent 
human  beings.  To  this  the  prima  donna  replied 
that  love  could  grow  illimitably,  without  danger  of 
ever  outgrowing  its  object.  The  need  was,  not  of 


WHAT  HAPPENED   TO  HER.  215 

more  to  love,  but  to  love  more.  God,  who  was 
love  itself,  loved  the  meanest  of  His  creatures  ;  and 
what  God  loved,  that,  surely,  is  not  unworthy  the 
affection  of  the  most  richly  endowed  of  mankind. 
As  Jocelyn  did  not  immediately  confute  this  argu- 
ment, the  prima  donna  arose,  and  gently  intimated 
that  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  be  alone,  in  order 
to  prepare  for  the  evening's  performance. 

Jocelyn  ought  to  have  known  the  futility  of  argu- 
ing with  a  woman  about  a  subject  in  which  the 
emotions  are  mainly  involved.  Even  if  he  had 
demonstrated  his  proposition  and  obtained  her  assent 
to  it,  he  would  not  have  been  a  bit  nearer  his  goal. 
A  woman  overpowered  by  passion  will  act  in  direct 
opposition  to  the  most  elementary  dictates  of  reason ; 
and  the  same  woman  will  not  swerve  a  hairs-breadth 
from  the  path  of  rectitude,  if  the  most  unanswerable 
logical  demonstration  do  not  tally  with  her  emotional 
prepossession.  The  fatal  flaw  in  Jocelyn's  syllogism 
was  Jocelyn  himself.  Man  may  sometimes  be  led 
by  the  intellect,  but  woman  only  by  the  heart  — and 
by  curiosity. 

After  the  above  discussion,  it  became  vaguely 
apparent  to  Jocelyn  that  the  prima  donna  was 
drifting  away  from  him.  She  parried  his  attempts 
at  familiar  intercourse  gently  but  effectively.  He 
had,  in  fact,  done  her  a  service  against  his  own  inter- 
est* ;  he  h;id  ;:ss:-t;><l  her  to  formulate  her  instinctive 


216  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

recoil  from  the  view  which  he  sought  to  inculcate. 
It  was  incumbent  upon  him,  therefore,  to  take  some 
practical  step.  The  close  of  the  season  was  at  hand. 
While  he  was  racking  his  brains  as  to  what  he 
should  do,  accident  came  opportunely  to  his  aid. 
As  he  was  walking  about  one  evening  behind  the 
scenes,  while  the  opera  was  in  progress,  a  carpenter, 
who  was  tinkering  a  defective  joint  in  the  scenery 
up  somewhere  in  the  wings,  let  fall  a  chisel,  which 
struck  Jocelyn  on  the  head,  inflicting  a  superficial 
but  alarming-looking  wound  along  the  right  side 
of  his  forehead.  He  staggered  and  fell,  and  blood 
streamed  down  his  face.  A  surgeon  was  sent  for, 
and  meanwhile  Jocelyn  was  removed  into  the  prima 
donna's  dressing-room.  Just  then  the  prima 
donna,  warm  and  palpitating  from  her  scene,  came 
in  with  glowing  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  the 
thunder  of  applause  still  sounding  in  her  ears. 
*  Jocelyn's  ghastly  aspect  filled  her  with  compas- 
sion and  tenderness.  She  knelt  down  beside  him, 
where  he  lay  upon  the  sofa,  dipped  her  handkerchief 
in  water,  and,  with  soft  murmurs  of  sympathy  and 
ruth,  washed  the  blood  away  from  his  wound.  He 
recognized  his  good  luck,  and  lay  still  for  a  time, 
apparently  in  the  dead  faint  that  precedes  dissolution. 
But,  watching  his  opportunity  when  they  were  left 
alone  for  a  few  minutes,  he  faltered  out  an  entreaty 
to  be  lifted  to  a  sitting  position,  and  when  she 


WHAT  HAPPENED   TO  HER.  217 

clasped  her  strong  young  arms  about  him,  to  accom- 
plish his  desire,  she  found  herself  unawares  entangled 
in  his  embrace,  and  before  she  could  extricate  her- 
self, she  felt  his  lips  on  her  cheek. 

She  placed  him  in  the  attitude  he  wished,  and 
then  got  slowly  and  wearily  to  her  feet,  her  face 
pale  and  her  eyes  dark. 

"So,"  she  said,  with  a  perceptible  intonation  of 
contempt,  "I  was  not  mistaken  !" 

"Forgive  me,  Beatrix,"  he  sighed  out,  still  affect- 
ing to  be  overcome  by  weakness.  "I  could  not  help 
it.  Darling  girl,  I  love  you  so  !  I  can  fight  against 
it  no  longer." 

"I  might  have  known  that  you  were  like  the 
others  —  or  worse,"  said  she;  "but  I  could  not 
believe  it  till  now.  I  shall  never  be  mistaken 
again." 

"  O  Beatrix  !  have  you  no  pity  ?  —  no  considera- 
tion for — for  my  condition?  Heaven  knows  how  I 
have  struggled  !  Take  off  this  bandage,"  he  contin- 
ued, querulously,  snatching  away  the  handkerchief 
from  his  forehead.  "Let  me  bleed  to  death  ;  I  will 
not  live  without  you  ! " 

"  It  will  take  you  a  long  time  to  bleed  to  death, 
Mr.  Jocelyn,"  returned  she,  quietly.  "I  shall  not 
be  able  to  wait  for  you.  Perhaps  Madame  Bemax 
will.  Shall  I  call  her?" 

"  You  shall  not  speak  to  me  in  that  tone ! "  ex- 


218  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

claimed  Jocelyn,  raising  himself  on  his  <*ouch  in  real 
or  feigned  passion.  "  1  have  not  deserved  it !  Have 
I  not  done  everything  for  you  ?  Have  you  forgotten 
what  you  owe  me  ?  " 

"  You  cannot  have  forgotten  that  I  long  since  told 
you  I  could  never  marry  you ;  so  how  could  you 
expect  that  I  would  pay  you  what  I  owe  with  my- 
self?" 

"  I  am  not  a  man  to  make  cold-blooded  calcula- 
tions ! "  cried  he,  getting-  impulsively  on  his  legs. 
"  If  you  had  any  heart  you  would  understand  .  .  . 
Beatrix,"  he  went  on,  suddenly  changing  his  tone 
and  attempting  to  seize  her  hands,  "I  do  not  ask  an 
irrevocable  compact  —  I  do  not  hope  that  you  can 
love  me  always.  You  will  go  on,  I  know,  and  leave 
me  behind.  But,  oh !  my  dearest  one,  would  you 
regret,  in  the  future  that  is  before  you,  and  which 
my  poor  aid  will  have  helped  you  to  enjoy — will 
you  regret,  then,  having  made  a  man  who  loves  you 
insanely  —  having  made  him,  for  a  little  while  only, 
the  happiest  of  human  beings  ?  You  may  be  loved 
by  younger  men  than  I,  and  handsomer,  and  richer  ; 
but  never  " — 

"Mr.  Jocelyn,"  she  interposed,  with  a  manner 
that  indicated  a  lamentable  hardening  of  her  once 
sweet  and  gracious  nature,  "if  you  would  look  at 
yourself  in  that  glass,  you  would  understand  why  I 
appear  so  unsympathetic.  Even  a  prima  donna, 


WHAT  HAPPENED   TO  HER.  219 

who  holds  herself  at  the  beck  and  call  of  every  good- 
looking  fellow  who  happens  to  take  a  fancy  to  her  — 
even  I  cannot  listen  to  you  until  you  have  washed 
your  face.  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  use  ray 
washstand, — people  are  so  censorious,  and  your 
sensibilities  are  so  delicate ;  but  if  you  will  go  to 
your  own  place,  and  get  yourself  in  presentable  con- 
dition, then  you  may  come  to-morrow,  and  we  will 
talk  over  your  proposal  as  quietly  as  our  passion  will 
admit.  I  will  ask  my  father  and  General  Inigo  to 
be  present  as  witnesses,  and  to  offer  suggestions ; 
for  you  are  so  young  and  impulsive  that  perhaps  I 
might  otherwise  get  the  better  of  you.  I  think  I 
hear  some  one  coming,"  she  added,  laying  her  hand 
upon  the  door-latch ;  "  perhaps  it  would  be  pleas- 
anter  for  you  to  go  out  of  your  own  accord,  instead 
of  waiting  to  be — assisted  !  " 

Jocelyn  departed,  feeling  sore,  outside  and  in. 
But  he  fancied  he  knew  a  way  to  make  the  primn 
donna  regret  his  dismissal. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"TO   BE    HONEST,    AS   THIS   WORLD   GOES." 

.  WALLIE  DINSMORE  had  been  indulg- 
ing  in  a  good  deal  of  casuistry  of  late,  owing 
to  a  desire  to  reconcile  his  theory  that  human  beings 
ought  to  help  one  another,  with  his  temperamental 
aversion  to  being  mixed  up  in  other  people's  affairs. 
He  might  have  evaded  the  difficulty  by  handing  over 
the  matter  which  troubled  him  to  Mrs.  Cadwalader ; 
but  that  would  only  have  been  an  indirect  way  of 
forcing  his  own  hand.  He  smoked  a  great  number 
of  cigars,  seated  in  his  study-chair,  and  incidentally 
tried  to  stare  his  great  white  owl  out  of  countenance  ; 
but  he  hesitated  still. 

One  morning,  while  thus  occupied,  he  heard  a 
carriage  stop  at  the  door,  and  a  card  was  brought 
up  to  him.  Contrary  to  his  usual  custom  in  such 
cases,  he  jumped  up,  tossed  his  cigar  into  the  fire, 
gave  a  pull  to  his  collar  and  a  jerk  to  his  coat, 
and  bade  the  servant  conduct  Mademoiselle  Marana 
upstairs. 

By  the  time  she  appeared,  he  had  recovered  his 
genial  serenity.  He  shook  hands  with  her  with 


"TO  BE  HONEST."  221 

a  quiet  cordiality  of  a  man  constantly  in  the 
habit  of  receiving  famous  prime  donne  in  his 
private  sitting-room,  and  at  the  same  time  gave  the 
servant  a  look  which  intimated  that  he  would  be  not 
at  home  while  this  visitor  remained. 

'*  You  come  in  good  season,"  said  he ;  "  the  owl 
and  I  have  just  been  talking  about  you." 

"I  did  not  ask  for  Mrs.  Dinsmore,"  began  the 
prima  donna. 

"Well,  I  know,"  interposed  Wallie.  "I  have 
often  tried  to  persuade  her  that  the  morning  is 
the  proper  time  to  receive  calls ;  but  she  is  still 
wedded  to  her  superstitions.  You  must  try  to  put 
up  with  me.  I  believe  I  should  make  a  pretty 
good  aunt." 

The  lady  felt  the  kindness  with  which  he  endeav- 
ered  to  put  her  at  her  ease,  and  a  faint  color  dawned 
in  her  cheeks.  He  went  on  :  — 

"  I  see  by  the  papers  that  you  are  soon  to  leave 
us.  It  must  be  pleasant  to  you  to  feel  how  much 
respect  and  regard,  as  well  as  renown,  you  have  won 
since  you  came  here.  I  hope  it  may  soon  bring  you 
back  to  us." 

"Do  you  respect  me,  Mr.  Dinsmore?"  demanded 
she,  fixing  her  eyes  on  him. 

"  You  were  an  enigma  to  me  at  first,"  he  replied 
immediately,  "but  I  respected  you  involuntarily, 
even  before  I  knew  that  I  was  right  in  doing  so." 


222  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

He  met  her  look  as  he  spoke,  and  she  felt  that  he 
spoke  what  he  meant. 

"  I  came  to  ask  you  ...  to  help  me  respect 
myself,"  she  said,  with  a  pause  between.  "Did 
you  know  that  I  was  an  actress  as  well  as  a 
singer?" 

"  I  knew  what  you  refer  to  the  first  moment  we 
met,"  answered  he,  with  a  friendly  smile.  "I  had 
seen  Mile.  Marana  abroad." 

She  did  not  need  to  ask  him  whether  he  had  kept 
her  secret.  Between  persons  of  a  certain  order  of 
integrity  assurances  of  such  a  kind  are  superfluous. 
She  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  had  known,  and 
yet  had  not  withheld  his  respect,  the  respect  of  a 
gentleman.  Her  sad  heart  began  to  take  a  little 
courage. 

"I  think  I  know  your  father,  Mr.  Randolph,"  he 
resumed,  with  the  slightest  accent  of  interrogation. 
"You  must  not  think  me  a  Paul  Pry;  but  Mr. 
Randolph  is  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  —  not  a 
good  dissimulator ;  and  he  accidentally  betrayed 
himself  to  me  one  day  without  knowing  it.  Perhaps 
I  ought  to  have  confessed  to  him ;  but  I  am  a 
wretchedly  undecided  mortal  about  such  things,  and 
I  have  been  debating  for  the  last  month  what  I  had 
better  do.  More  than  a  month ;  in  fact,  ever  since 
Geoffrey  BeUingham  went  away." 

As  he  carelessly  uttered  the  last  words  his  glance 


"  TO  BE  HONEST."  223 

passed  over  her.  She  did  not  move  an  eyelid. 
Her  breath  stopped  for  a  few  moments,  but  that 
could  not  be  seen. 

"She  has  already  learned  some  things,  poor  girl !  " 
thought  Wallie  to  himself.  "  Your  main  object  in 
entering  the  profession  must  be  nearly  achieved,"  he 
presently  continued,  as  she  remained  silent. 

"  You  think  it  was  only  the  object  that  justified 
me  ?  "  she  said  quickly. 

"If  I  were  you,"  he  replied,  "I  would  be  myself 
in  future." 

"  But  can  I  sing  any  more  ?  " 

"  Speaking  for  the  public,  I  should  say  sing  on 
forever.  You  have  gained  a  footing  from  which 
nothing  can  dislodge  you.  You  need  no  other 
woman's  reputation,  and  the  public  will  easily  forgive 
you  the  ruse  you  have  put  upon  them  ;  indeed,  they 
have  nothing  to  forgive." 

"I  would  rather  you  found  fault  with  me  than 
made  it  easy  for  me,"  she  said,  with  a  tremor  in  her 
voice.  "There  is  no  one  else  I  can  go  to." 

"I  don't  think  you  need  a  scolding,"  returned 
Wallie,  with  his  kindly  smile.  "The  past  is  done 
with .  I  can  imagine  you  have  had  an  uphill  time  of 
it  in  many  ways.  But  you  have  gone  far  to  reha- 
bilitate completely  Mile.  Marana's  character,  and  I 
should  fancy  she  would  be  very  reluctant  to  have  it 
known  that  she  cannot  claim  the  merit  of  the 


224  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

vindication.  Another  season  you  would  probably  be 
free  from  vulgar  annoyance,  even  were  you  to 
continue  your  present  disguise ;  but,  in  your  own 
name,  and  with  the  outside  protection  which  it 
would  enable  you  to  command,  you  would  be 
perfectly  secure.  However,  I  shan't  pretend  to 
advise  you,  Mademoiselle  .  .  .  Miss  Eandolph. 
In  the  first  place,  I  am  an  interested  party — I  want 
you  to  go  on  singing  for  my  own  benefit;  and, 
furthermore,  I  cannot  tell  how  far  the  pleasures  of 
the  profession  may  seem  to  you  to  outweigh  the 
drawbacks — or  vice  versa" 

"  It's  the  only  thing  I'm  good  for  —  that's  all," 
said  she,  looking  up  at  him. 

"  I  wonder  what  Geoffrey  would  say  to  that  ? " 
thought  "Wallie.  "  By  Jove  !  it's  outrageous  what 
fools  these  boys  and  girls  will  be.  They  will  —  they 
seem  to  like  it!  Well,  then,  they  deserve  to  have 
their  little  miseries,  do  n't  they?  Of  course  they  do  ! 
I  wish  I  were" —  he  checked  himself  and  dropped 
his  eyes,  which  had  dwelt  too  long  upon  her 
loveliness.  "Come,  come,"  he  said  to  himself, 
severely,  "  this  will  never  do !  Attend  to  your 
business,  old  two-and-forty,  and  pay  proper  reverence 
to  your  .  .  .  daughter !  " 

He  got  up  and  said  aloud  :  — 

"  Miss  Randolph,  I'm  going  to  ask  you  a  great 
favor.  I'm  an  old  man,  as  I  needn't  tell  you,  and  I 


"TO  BE  HONEST."  225 

am  a  slave  to  my  habits.  Would  you  permit  me  to 
smoke  a  cigarette?  What  small  wits  I  have  go 
hopelessly  wool-gathering  if  I  don't  keep  them  to- 
gether with  a  little  tobacco." 

Miss  Randolph  smiled. 

"  My  father  always  smoked,"  said  she.  "  It  would 
make  me  feel  at  home." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  thought  Wallie,  ruefully,  "  she 
might  have  let  me  off  as  an  elder  brother  !  But  she 
takes  me  at  my  own  valuation — bless  her  heart! 
Xow  let  us  see  what  can  be  done." 

He  lit  his  cigarette,  and  sent  the  smoke  curling 
through  his  nose.  "  Art  is  certainly  a  great  resource," 
he  observed,  "and  a  noble  one.  It  has  been  said, 
and  it  may  be  true,  that  it  admits  of  no  rivals.  If 
one's  affections  are  unoccupied,  —  one's  human  affec- 
tions, I  mean,  — and  are  likely  to  remain  so,  I  dare 
say  one  could  not  do  better  than  to  devote  one's  self 
wholly  to  art.  You  feel,  you  say,  that  there  is 
nothing  else  you  could  possibly  prefer  to  it;  that 
you  were  made  for  music  and  for  nothing  else?" 

"  Nothing  else,"  she  repeated  in  a  husky  voice, 
feeling  as  if,  with  those  words,  she  had  surrendered 
her  last  secret  of  hope  of  happiness. 

"  This  will  come  out  all  right,"  thought  Wallie  to 
himself,  cheerfully  ;  ff  if  that  ass  Geoffrey  were  only 
here  it  might  be  settled  on  the  spot."  Aloud  he 
said,  "  That  being  the  case,  I  don't  see  how  you 


226  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

could  be  more  fortunately  situated.  With  you, 
circumstances,  expediency,  and  inclination  all  pull 
together.  It  was  not  so  with  a  young  friend  of  mine, 
once,  who  showed  remarkable  talent  for  the  stage. 
She  had  got  so  fur  as  to  make  her  debut,  with  every 
prospect  of  success,  when  she  was  unlucky  enough 
to  fall  in  love  with  —  and  be  fallen  in  love  with  by — 
a  young  gentleman  of  good  family  here,  a  lawyer. 
You  will  hardly  believe  it,  Miss  Randolph ;  you 
are  so  differently  constituted  in  every  way  from  her," 
continued  Wallie,  gravely  ;  "but  when  she  discovered 
that  he  would  feel  pained  if  she  remained  on  the 
stage  she  actually  gave  up  her  whole  career  !  And 
they  were  married,  and  she  has  never  been  heard  of 
in  a  public  way  since.  And  she  seems  very  happy 
too  !  But  she  could  never  have  had  the  same  single- 
hearted  devotion  to  art  that  you  have." 

"lean  —  understand  her  being  happy,  though," 
said  Miss  Randolph  almost  in  a  whisper.  Then 
Wallie's  heart  smote  him  that  he  had  played  upon 
her.  After  all,  what  did  he  know  about  what  had 
occurred  between  her  and  Geoffrey?  There  may 
have  been  a  veritable  tragedy,  instead  of  an  ordinary 
lover's  misunderstanding.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
had  no  suspicion  of  the  tragi-comic  mistake  which 
was  the  immediate  cause  of  their  separation.  He 
thought  it  probable  that  she  had  revealed  her  true 
name  to  him,  and  supposed  that  they  had  differed  on 


"TO  BE  HONEST."  227 

the  "public  career  "  question,  which  he  had  just  illus- 
trated in  his  fable. 

In  order  to  give  himself  and  her  time  for  reflection, 
he  took  up  the  conversation  at  another  point.  "  In 
the  event  of  your  accepting  another  engagement," 
he  said,  "  I  suppose  Inigo  would  be  the  fortunate 
man  ?  " 

"  Nothing  has  been  decided  about  that,"  she  replied, 
falling  with  a  sense  of  relief  into  the  business  tone. 
"  I  have  been  told  —  that  is,  it  seems  that  there  may 
be  a  difficulty  I  had  not  thought  of —  a  legal  trouble. 
This  money  that  I  have  been  receiving,"  she  went 
on  after  a  pause,  "has  been  paid,  of  course,  to 
Mademoiselle  Marana.  The  agreement,  according  to 
which  it  is  paid,  is  signed  by  her  —  that  is,  not  by 
me.  So  it  seems  that,  legally,  I  am  only  her  repre- 
sentative—  her  deputy,  as  it  were  ;  and  she  can,  if 
she  chooses,  demand  that  I  make  over  all  the  money 
to  her.  But,  of  course,  all  the  money,  or  most  of  it, 
has  been  paid  away  for  —  to  my  father  f  so,  you  see, 
there  would  be  trouble." 

"  Humph  !  "  ejaculated  Wallie,  taking  a  pinch  of 
his  mustache  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger. 
He  meditated  for  a  while,  staring  at  the  owl,  which 
silently  returned  his  gaze.  "  Who  is  your  lawyer  ?  " 
he  inquired,  at  length. 

"  I  haven't  any.'' 

"  Was  it  Inigo  who  ?  " — 


228  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"  No  —  he  —  I  don't  know  whether  it  had  oc- 
curred to  him."  The  truth  was,  that  Hamilton 
Jocelyn,  in  requital  of  the  injury  to  his  feelings,  had 
written  the  prirna  donna,  a  letter,  in  which  he  had 
advanced  the  above  suggestion  ;  and  he  had  further 
announced  that  it  was  his  purpose  immediately  to 
acquaint  the  real  Marana  with  the  position  of  affairs, 
and  to  offer  her  his  services  in  the  event  of  a  prose- 
cution. It  is  doubtful  whether  he  really  contem- 
plated any  action  of  the  kind  ;  but  it  would  not  have 
softened  the  unloveliness  of  his  present  sensations 
could  he  have  known  that  Beatrix  was  not  in  the  least 
surprised  or  shocked  at  the  position  he  had  taken. 
It  seemed  to  her  quite  in  keeping  with  his  character. 

"  She  might  give  you  some  annoyance,"  "Wallie 
admitted,  after  further  consultation  with  the  owl, 
"  but  I'm  by  no  means  sure  she  could  obtain  a 
verdict.  I  imagine  she  must  have  written  to  Inigo, 
definitely  withdrawing  from  the  engagement,  and 
hence  his  substitution  of  you.  Was  that  the  way 
of  it?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  believe  she  paid  the  forfeit." 

"  Then  I  don't  think  you  need  worry.  There  can, 
at  any  rate,  be  no  doubt  that  you  have  done  the 
singing,  and,  as  singing  is  paid  nowadays,  four 
thousand  dollars  a  night  is  none  too  much  for  it." 

"It  was  three  thousand  the  first  month,  and  thirtv- 
three  hundred  afterward,"  put  in  the  prima  donna. 


"TO  BE  HONEST."  229 

"Inigo  certainly  told  me,  when  he  returned  from 
Europe  last  June,  that  he  had  got  Marana  for  four 
thousand  a  night,"  Wallie  affirmed.  "  But  probably 
he  took  advantage  of  your  being  a  debutante  to  cut 
it  down." 

"Mr.  Jocelyn  —  that  is,  I  think  not;  I  was  told 
that  I  received  the  same  that  she  was  to  have  had." 

"Hamilton  Jocelyn?  Is  he  mixed  up  in  this 
affair?"  inquired  Wallie,  with  an  air  of  dissat- 
isfaction. 

She  had  intended  not  to  bring  Jocelyn's  name 
into  the  conversation ;  but,  as  it  had  slipped  out, 
she  now  thought  it  best  to  say,  "It  was  he  who 
introduced  me  to  General  Inigo,  and  he  has  been 
acting  as  my  agent,  — paying  me  the  money.  And 
he  said,"  she  added,  wishing  to  do  her  enemy  justice, 
"  that  it  was  by  his  exertions  that  General  Inigo  was 
persuaded  to  raise  my  salary  after  the  first  month." 

Wallic  threw  away  his  cigarette  and  rubbed  his 
nose.  "Well,"  he  said,  presently,  "I  dare  say 
Jocelyn  knew  what  he  was  about.  I  should  like  to 
hear  what  he  has  to  say  in  Inigo 's  presence.  Im- 
pressarios  and  agents  are  human,  and  need  looking 
after  occasionally." 

"  What  I  thought  was,"  she  resumed,  "  that  if  it 
should  turn  out  I  had  no  legal  right  to  the  money,  I 
should  really  have  to  make  some  more,  whether  I 
liked  it  or  not.  It  would  have  to  be  made  in  some 


230  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

way,  you  know  ;  and  papa  —  and  there  seems  to  be 
no  other  way  but  for  me  to  go  on  singing,  if  I  can 
get  an  engagement." 

"As  to  that,"  said  Wallie,  smiling,  "if  I  wanted 
to  make  a  fortune,  I  would  turn  impressario,  and 
make  you  my  single  investment.  Let  us  assume, 
for  argument's  sake,  that  from  the  pecuniary  stand- 
point you  are  perfectly  free  either  to  go  on  or  not. 
Now,  of  course,  there  are  ways  in  which  you  might 
cultivate  music  without  keeping  in  opera.  You 
could  sing  at  a  church,  or,  when  you  felt  in  the 
mood,  at  a  private  or  public  concert.  But  there  is 
something  else  in  the  profession  besides  the  singing, 
—  there  is  the  audience.  Do  you  know  what  I 
mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  she  in  a  low  voice. 

"It  is  a  magnificent  stimulant,"  he  continued; 
"there  is  no  other  to  compare  with  it  in  the  world. 
They  say,  when  you  have  once  felt  the  delight  of  it, 
nothing  is  so  difficult  as  to  give  it  up.  There  is 
nothing  that  you  would  exchange  for  it." 

"  That  is  not  true  !  "  said  she,  lifting  her  head. 
In  a  moment  she  added :  "  But  I  have  felt  that  it 
would  be  a  great  consolation."  Wallie  glanced  up, 
and  she  blushed. 

He  rose  again  from  his  chair,  and  took  another 
cigarette  from  the  box  on  the  low  bookcase.  Then 
he  went  to  another  place  for  a  match,  which  he 


"TO   BE  HONEST."  231 

scratched  underneath  the  mantel-piece.  Then  he  lit 
the  cigarette  and  threw  the  burnt  end  of  the  match 
in  the  fire,  after  having  shaken  it  rapidly  to  and  fro 
to  extinguish  it.  Sho  watched  him,  half-absently, 
thinking  what  a  good  fellow  he  was,  how  quiet,  how 
honest,  how  kind,  how  quick  of  apprehension.  But, 
through  him,  beyond  him,  in  his  place,  she  was 
seeing  another  figure,  which  she  never  hoped  to 
behold  again  in  reality.  Oh,  the  perversity  of 
human  affairs  !  The  goodness  that  we  meet  with  is 
not  the  goodness  that  we  want ;  the  evil  that  happens 
to  us  is  not  the  punishment  of  our  evil ! 

Wallie  glanced  at  her  through  the  smoke  of  his 
cigarette,  with  a  sympathetic  interest,  half-sad,  half- 
humorous.  The  heavy  fur-lined  cloak  that  she  wore 
was  thrown  back  on  the  chair  ;  her  head  leaned  back- 
ward, showing  the  white  throat ;  her  richly-made, 
close-fitting  black  dress  revealed  the  lithe  beauty  of 
her  figure  ;  there  was  a  soft  dimness  about  her  eyes  ; 
a  little  strand  of  bright  hair  had  strayed  across  her 
forehead.  How  mournful  she  looked !  how  easily 
she  might  be  happy ;  how  gladly  he  would  make  her 
so  !  But  those  who  have  the  good-will  have  not 
the  power  ;  and  those  who  have  the  power  . 
"  I  hope  to  gracious,"  exclaimed  Wallie  to  himself, 
"  that  he  is  suffering  the  torments  of  the  damned  !  I 
may  have  been  a  fool,  in  my  time,  but  nothing 
should  ever  have  made  me  turn  my  back  on  a 


232  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

woman  like  that !  "  And  he  reseated  himself  with  a 
resentful  vehemence  that  drew  a  creaking  remon- 
strance from  his  arm-chair. 

"  Do  you  think,  Miss  Randolph,"  he  asked,  tr  that 
the  time  would  ever  come  when  you  would  prefer 
the  consolation  to  the  —  thing  it  consoled  you  fov?" 

"A  consolation  is  only  —  a  consolation,"  she 
replied,  with  a  little  smile.  "  But  you  must  not 
think  that  I  am  —  was  meaning  anything  except  in 
a  general  way.  I  should  only  find  it  more  tiresome 
than  usual  to  have  nothing  to  do,  now  that  I  know 
what  it  is  to  do  something." 

"  Speaking  in  a  general  way,  however,  don't  you 
think  it  would  be  unwise  to  seek  consolation,  as 
such,  until  one  was  quite  certain,  beyond  the  possi- 
bility of  a  doubt,  that  consolation  was  the  thing 
one  needed?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  there  can  be  no  doubt !  "  she  an- 
swered. But  there  was  in  her  tone,  and  in  the  sudden, 
inquiring  expansion  of  her  eyes,  a  feeling  less  of 
conviction  than  of  misgiving  and  suspense,  as  if  the 
earnest  emphasis  with  which  he  had  spoken  had  led 
her  to  suspect  that  he  might  know  something  of 
great  moment  to  her.  He  had  no  such  knowledge  ; 
but  he  had  a  strong  persuasion  that  she  was  the 
victim  of  a  misfortune  that  might  be  set  right ;  and 
he  perceived  that  the  time  was  now  come  when  he 
might  speak  to  her  openly  on  the  subject  which  had, 


"TO  BE  HONEST."  233 

all  along,  been  in  both  their  minds.  But,  as  he 
opened  his  mouth  to  do  so,  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  the  servant  came  in  with  a  letter. 

"The  messenger  boy's  waiting,  sir,"  he  said,  "and 
wants  to  know  if  there's  an  answer." 

"Tell  him,"  said  Wallie,  sternly,  "to  go  to"  — 
He  stopped.  The  handwriting  on  the  envelope  had 
caught  his  eye.  "If  you  will  excuse  me?"  he  said, 
glancing  at  his  visitor,  while  he  tore  the  letter  open. 
He  took  in  the  contents  with  a  look.  "  No  answer 
—  I'll  answer  it  in  person,"  he  said  to  the  servant, 
who  withdrew. 

"Miss  Randolph,"  said  Wallie,  standing  in  front 
of  her,  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  and  a  peculiar 
smile  on  his  face,  "this  is  from  a  friend  of  mine 
whom  you  know.  There's  nothing  in  it  that  you 
may  not  see  ;  will  you  read  it  ?  " 

She  took  the  letter,  saw  the  signature,  let  her 
hand  fall  to  her  lap  for  a  moment,  then  lifted  it 
again,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

"DEAR  WALLIE, — I  returned  this  morning.  In  Ireland 
I  met  a  young  fellow  named  Randolph,  with  a  lady,  who 
turned  out  to  be  Mile.  Mai-ana.  I  didn't  know  what  to 
think,  "but  came  on  at  once  in  order  to  warn  her  namesake 
here.  At  the  hotel  I  found  Randolph  and  his  father;  it  ap- 
pears that  the  former  and  Marana  had  arrived  a  few  hours 
before  me  on  another  steamer.  Our  Marana  went  out  this 
morning,  no  one  knows  where.  From  something  I  hap- 
pened to  hear  old  Randolph  say  to  his  son,  I  begin  to  sus- 


234  BEATRIX   RANDOLPH. 

pect  I  have  made  an  astonishing  and  wicked  blunder.  I  will 
explain  when  I  see  you,  which  must  be  at  once.  The  two 
ladies  must  not  meet  at  present,  if  we  can  help  it.  If  you 
get  this  in  time,  meet  me  here  at  one  o'clock. 

"  G.  BELLINGHAM." 

"  Shall  we  go  to  the  hotel  together?  "  said  Wallie, 
when  she  had  read  the  letter. 

"  No.  I  cannot  see  him.  Oh,  my  brother  !  " 
she  pressed  her  hands  over  her  face,  and  bent  her 
head  down  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

"I  think,"  said  Wallie,  gently,  after  a  pause, 
"  that  Mrs.  Dinsmore  has  just  come  in.  I  know 
she'll  want  you  to  stay  to  lunch.  Shall  I  tell  her 
you're  here  ?  " 

"  Let  me  go  to  her,"  said  Beatrix,  rising  suddenly, 
and  moving  blindly  toward  the  door.  Wallie  drew 
her  arm  beneath  his  and  led  her  out.  Ten  minutes 
later  he  was  on  his  way  up-town. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HOW  HER  BROTHER  WAS  PUNISHED. 

TTTHEN"  Wallie  reached  the  hotel  he  met  Geof- 
*  frey  in  the  vestibule.  "You  had  better  have 
stayed  at  home  and  built  my  cottage  for  me," 
remarked  the  former,  as  they  shook  hands.  "  You 
don't  do  going-to-Europe  well." 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  "  — 

"  I  know  all  about  it.  I've  been  chatting  with 
the  lady  the  last  hour.  I'm  disappointed  in  you. 
You  should  have  married  her  first,  and  she  would 
have  left  the  stage  of  her  own  accord  afterward." 

"  That  was  not  the  question.  But  how  did  you 
know"  — 

"  That  you  wanted  to  marry  her  ?  I  am  only  mad 
north-north-east.  When  the  wind  is  in  the  south 
.  .  .  But  she's  too  good  for  you." 

"  The  point  is,  that  she  is  the  daughter  "  — 

"  Great  Scott !  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  didn't 
know  who  she  is  ?  " 

K  Did  you  ?  " 

"I?  Of  course  ;  I  knew  the  other  one,  in  the  first 
place.  But  didn't  she  tell  you  ?" 


236  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  Geoffrey,  gravely,  "  that 
I  would  have  gone  to  Europe  if  I  had  known  that  the 
man  whom  I  saw  .  .  .  that  there  was  all  that  mys- 
tery about,  was  her  own  father  ?  " 

Wallie  stared  at  his  friend  a  moment,  and  then 
laughed.  "  This  is  very  sad,"  said  he.  "  And,  if 
I'm  not  mistaken,  you  were  with  me  that  day  when 
Randolph  came  in,  and  gave  himself  away —  How- 
ever !  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  '' 

"  The  real  Marana  is  here,  or,  rather,  at  the 
Albemarle.  I  want  to  know  what  she  is  going  to 
do.  She  may  decide  to  make  trouble." 

"  There  is  one  obstacle  in  her  way,  fortunately." 

"What?" 

"  Well,  it  would  be  awkward  for  her  to  prosecute 
the  sister  of  her  lover." 

"  He  is  her  lover  only  in  the  sense  that  he  wants 
to  marry  her." 

"  What  about  that  hundred  thousand  dollars  he 
got  rid  of?  " 

"It  is  as  I  say,  nevertheless."  And  Geoffrey 
gave  his  friend  a  synopsis  of  what  Helwise  had  told 
him  on  the  subject. 

"  In  that  case  there  is  all  the  more  reason  for  her 
to  keep  quiet,"  said  Wallie. 

"Then  why  did  she  come  to  America?  "  Geoffrey 
inquired. 

"  Have  you  seen  her  on  the  subject?" 


PUNISHMENT.  237 

"  I  have  had  no.  opportunity  yet." 

"Well,  leave  it  to  me.  You  are  not  a  diplomatist. 
This  young  Randolph  has  got  himself  in  a  nice  posi- 
tion !  If  Miss  Beatrix  was  not  his  sister,  or  if 
Marana  were  not  his  lady-love,  he  could  take  a  hand 
on  one  side  or  the  other ;  but,  as  it  is,  he's  helpless 
both  ways.  I  should  think  he  would  feel  tired. 
What  sort  of  a  fellow  is  he?" 

"He  seemed  well  enough,  the  little  I've  seen  of 
him." 

"  I  see  ;  you  think  of  him  as  your  future  brother- 
in-law,"  said  Wallie,  smiling.  -  "But  don't  be  too 
comfortable  !  That  young  lady  is  not  to  be  played 
fast-and-loose  with." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  comfortable!"  said  Geoffrey, 
gloomily. 

"  Well,  I  won't  hit  you  while  you're  down  ;  but  if 
you  get  up  again,  look  out !  Where  is  this  young 
scamp  ?  " 

"  Upstairs,  I  believe,  with  his  father." 

"  I'll  have  a  hack  at  him,  to  begin  with.  You 
may  as  well  keep  yourself  to  yourself  until  you  hear 
from  me  again.  We  can't  afford  any  more  blun- 
ders." 

He  sent  up  his  card,  and  was  conducted  to  the 
room  where  the  Randolphs,  father  and  son,  were. 
The  latter  was  walking  up  and  down  the  floor, 


238  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

while  the  former  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
looking  as  high-shouldered  and  dignified  as  possible. 

"I  am  here,"  said  Wallie,  pleasantly,  after  the 
formalities  were  over,  "  unofficially,  on  behalf  of  the 
lady  who  has  been  singing  the  past  season  under  the 
name  of  Mile.  Marana." 

"Mr.  Dinsmore,"  said  Randolph,  senior,  twisting 
his  eyebrow  sternly,  "you  are  perhaps  not  aware 
that  the  lady  is  under  my  especial  charge." 

"I  have  known  for  some  months  that  she  is  your 
daughter,  Mr.  Randolph  ;  but  no  one  is  aware  that 
she  is  under  your  especial  charge." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, fiercely. 

"You  told  me,  several  weeks  ago,  in  the  presence 
of  my  friend  Bellingham,  who  remembers  it,  that 
you  had  but  the  slightest  acquaintance  with  her. 
And  your  charge  of  her  has  amounted  to  so  little, 
that  she  has  to-day  come  to  me,  who  had  no  right  to 
expect  such  an  honor,  for  counsel  and  protection." 

This  was  said  quietly,  but  with  a  certain  warmth 
and  emphasis  that  abashed  Mr.  Randolph  a  good 
deal.  He  turned  red,  and  opened  his  mouth  once 
or  twice,  as  though  to  speak ;  but  no  words  came. 

Hereupon  Edward  Randolph  put  in  his  oar. 
"  Whatever  may  have  been  my  sister's  position 
before  my  arrival,  sir,"  said  he,  "  it's  another  thing 
now.  I'll  look  out  for  her  !  " 


PUNISHMENT.  239 

"If  you  do,  it  will  be  but  a  tardy  return  for  the 
services  she  has  rendered  you,  during  the  last  few 
months,"  returned  Wallie,  with  a  peculiar  brightness 
in  his  gray  eyes. 

"I  don't  recognize  your  right  to  meddle  in  our 
family  affairs,"  cried  Ed,  angrily. 

"  Your  family  affairs  are  likely  to  be  public 
property  before  long.  I  intend,  for  the  sake  of 
Miss  Randolph,  to  prevent  it,  if  possible,"  said 
Wallie,  composedly. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Dinsmore  will  explain  himself," 
suggested  Randolph,  senior,  in  a  less  defiant  tone. 

"  I  wish  to  find  out  from  you,  before  resorting  to 
other  means,  whether  Mile.  Marana  means  to  take 
measures  to  assert  any  rights  she  may  believe  herself 
to  have  in  this  matter,"  answered  Wallifc,  fixing  his 
eyes  on  Ed. 

Ed  looked  at  his  father,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  And  in  case  she  does,"  Wallie  resumed,  "  I  wish 
to  know  whether  you,  Mr.  Edward,  intend  to  act 
with  her  or  against  her  ?  " 

"  He  will  act  against  her,  —  I  will  answer  for 
that !  "  put  in  Randolph,  senior,  with  decision. 

"  I  prefer  to  answer  for  myself,  sir  !  "  retorted 
Ed,  frowning  upon  his  parent. 

"Answer  for  yourself,  sir?"  repeated  the  older 
gentleman,  excitedly.  "  You'll  have  enough  to 
answer  for,  then,  I  can  assure  you  !  You  will  have 


240  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

to  answer  for  the  fortune  that  you  have  dissipated, 
sir,  —  a  fortune  which  belonged  to  you  no  more 
than  it  does  to  this  gentleman  here  present.  Where 
would  you  be,  I  should  like  to  know,  if  your  sister 
—  your  sister,  who  had  never  before  been  out  of  her 
father's  house  —  had  not  paid  your  dissolute  debts 
with  the  money  which  she  earned  with  her  own 
hands — voice,  I  mean,  sir?  How  is  a  good-for- 
nothing  fellow  who  robs  his  father  of  money  to  spend 
on  a  loose  woman,  and  lets  himself  be  supported  by 
his  sister  "  — 

"  Father,  Mile.  Marana  is  not  "  — 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir  !  Never  mind  what  Mile. 
Marana  is  not :  I,  and  everybody  else,  know  what 
she  is  !  And  you  stand  there  before  me,  a  beggar, 
without  a  cent  in  your  pocket,  except  what  your 
mistress  may  have  had  the  compassion  to  give  you, 
and  tell  me  you  will  do  as  you  please !  By  the 
Lord,  sir  "  — 

"  I  will  not  permit  any  man  alive  to  slander  that 
lady,"  called  out  young  Mr.  Randolph,  in  a  white 
heat  of  wrath.  "She  is  a  lady,  every  inch  of  her : 
whoever  says  the  contrary,  lies !  You  may  revile 
me  all  you  like,  — I'll  not  say  a  word;  though,  as 
Mr.  Dinsmore  here  told  you,  you  abandoned  my 
sister  to  the  insults  of  all  the  blackguards  in  town, 
for  the  sake  of  the  money  she  was  putting  into  your 
pocket.  Mr.  Dinsmore,"  he  added,  turning  to  that 


_    PUNISHMENT.  241 

personage,  "  you  are  a  gentleman,  and  I'll  speak  to 
you.  '  You  see  how  I  stand,  and  you  can't  wish  me 
to  feel  more  humiliated  than  I  do.  I  love  my  sister 
—  God  knows  it !  —  in  spite  of  all  the  trouble  I've 
brought  on  her.  She  has  replaced  the  money  I 
spent,  and  not  a  cent  of  it  will  I  ever  touch,  if  I 
have  to  starve  in  the  streets.  But  when  I  found,  on 
landing  in  New  York  to-day,  that  it  was  my  sister 
who  had  been  taking  Mile.  Marana's  place,  I  knew  I 
was  done  for  !  The  two  women  in  this  world  whom 
I  love  and  honor,  by  George !  are  set  against  each 
other,  and  I,  who  would  defend  either  of  'em  with 
my  life,  can  do  nothing !  After  punishment  like 
that,  it's  not  your  shrieking  and  stamping  that  can 
make  me  feel  any  worse  !  "  he  said,  looking  his  father 
in  the  face. 

At  this  point  Wallie  thought  the  time  was  come 
to  interpose.  He  had  less  sympathy  with  the  father 
than  with  the  son,  whose  chief  crime,  after  all, 
seemed  to  be  that  he  had  lost  his  head  and  his  sense 
of  personal  responsibility  for  love's  sake.  It  was  no 
more  than  justice  that  bath  of  them  should  be 
arraigned  for  their  behavior,  and  it  was  poetical 
justice  that  the  arraignment  of  each  should  come 
from  the  other.  But  it  had  gone  far  enough,  and 
was  not,  in  itself,  agreeable  for  a  third  person  to 
listen  to. 

WI  think  the  best  thing  to  do,"  he  said,  "  is  to  go 


242  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

to  Mile.  Marana  at  once,  and  learn  how  she  feela 
about  it.  The  matter  may,  perhaps,  be  arranged 
quietly.  If  you'll  come  with  me,  Mr.  Edward, 
we'll  do  what  we  can." 

"  All  right,"  returned  Ed,  whose  fit  of  rage  had 
left  him  in  a  very  depressed  and  tractable  state; 
"I'll  do  whatever  you  advise." 

"  And  I  wash  my  hands  of  you,  sir  !  "  exclaimed 
Randolph,  senior,  to  his  son,  as  the  latter  moved 
towards  the  door.  But  Ed  took  no  notice  of  this 
farewell  shot,  and  he  remained  pretty  much  silent  all 
the  way  down  to  the  Albemarle,  where  they  pres- 
ently found  themselves  in  the  private  sitting-room  of 
Mrs.  Peters,  as  she  still  preferred  to  call  herself. 

She  had  been  sitting  at  the  piano,  but,  as  the 
gentlemen  entered,  she  rose  and  came  to  meet  them. 

"I  have  the  memory  of  meeting  you  before,"  she 
said  to  Wallie,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  whose 
softness  contrasted  with  the  bright  hardness  of  the 
jewelled  rings  she  wore.  She  looked  at  Ed,  but 
made  no  remark  to  him. 

"  I  had  given  up  the  hope  of  seeing  you  this 
season,  Diva,"  observed  Wallie,  with  a  smile. 
"  You  drove  General  Inigo  to  his  wit's  end." 

"That  would  be  farther  than  I  would  like  to  go 
myself,"  she  replied,  quietly.  "  I  think  he  did  not 
stay  long  there  himself."  Her  beautiful  face  was 
calm  and  quite  impenetrable.  If  she  meant  mis- 


PUNISHMENT,  243 

chief,  she  meant  it  very  deep  down.  She  did  not 
smile,  but  neither  was  there  any  sign  of  suppressed 
anger  in  her  tranquil  bearing. 

"  It  is  my  fortune  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the 
lady  who  has  been  singing  here  in  your  stead,"  said 
AVallie,  who  perceived  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
beat  about  the  bush  with  a  woman  of  her  calibre 
and  temperament.  "  As  she  is  the  sister  of  your 
friend,  Mr.  Randolph,  I  hope  to  see  you  friends 
with  her  also." 

"  It  is  my  way  to  keep  the  things  of  business  apart 
from  the  things  of  friendship,"  returned  Marana, 
with  the  slow  distinctness  that  marked  her  utterance 
of  English.  "Edward,"  she  continued-,  turning  to 
that  unhappy  young  man,  "  M.  Dinsmore  has  your 
confidence? — he  knows  of  your — foolishness,  yes?" 

"He's  all  right,"  asserted  the  youth,  with  a  heavy 
sigh. 

"Be  so  good,  then,  mon  cher,  to  go  downstairs, 
a  little,  and  smoke  your  cigar.  It  is  not  three  who 
are  company,"  said  she,  with  a  certain  aroma  of 
tenderness  in  her  tone,  which  (Wallie  fancied)  was 
more  involuntary  than  conscious. 

"Now,  monsieur,"  she  continued,  when  they  were 
alone,  "  after  fifteen  minutes  I  await  General  Inigo. 
Up  till  that  I  am  all  yours."  And  she  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  and  rested  one  hand  within  the 
other  in  her  lap. 


244  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"The  General  will,  no  doubt,  answer  for  himself, 
—  that  is  not  my  affair,"  said  Wallie.  "But  I 
should  like  to  know  whether  you  perceive  any  dis- 
tinction between  his  accountability  and  that  of  this 
young  lady  ?  " 

"You  would  say,  it  is  his  fault,  but  only  her 
misfortune." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Diva,  the  fault  seems  to 
me  to  lie  between  all  three  of  you,  but  less  belongs 
to  her  than  to  either  Inigo  or  you." 

"It  is  not  I  who  apportion  the  fault,  monsieur; 
but  if  I  say  the  truth  shall  be  known,  then  the 
affair  must  turn  out  as  it  will." 

"  But  you  know  that  the  only  one  to  suffer  would 
be  the  sister  of  Mr.  Randolph." 

A  slight  movement  of  the  underlids  of  Marana's 
eyes  showed  that  she  appreciated  the  significance  of 
Wallie's  paraphrase  for  her  rival.  "  In  our  profes- 
sion, monsieur,"  she  said,  shrugging  one  shoulder 
and  looking  aside,  "  we  have  the  necessity  to  each 
defend  himself,  without  regard  of  person." 

"  There  are  two  reasons  why  people  fight,  —  one 
to  inflict  injury,  and  the  other,  to  get  some  advan- 
tage for  themselves.  Is  yours  the  first?" 

"  Why  should  you  assume  it,  monsieur?"  inquired 
the  Russian. 

"  Because,  in  this  case,  there  is  no  advantage  to 
be  derived.  And,  besides,  though  I  can  imagine 


PUNISHMENT.  245 

Mademoiselle  Marana  wishing  to  crush  a  rival,  I 
cannot  imagine  her  condescending  to  make  a  ques- 
tion of  money." 

"  I  had  begun  to  think  that  M.  Dinsmore  was  too 
truthful  to  make  any  compliments,"  said  Marana, 
with  a  leisurely  smile  that  enhanced  the.  beauty  of 
her  face. 

"  There  may  be  more  respect  in  what  one  leaves 
unsaid,  than  "  — 

"Ah!  I  comprehend  that.  also.  But  —  consider 
it ;  if  I  have  spent  all  my  life  in  trying  to  sing  well, 
and  then  I  find  that  some  one  has  borrowed  my 
name,  so  that  her  singing  is  thought  to  be  mine,  — 
then  all  that  I  have  done  in  my  life  is  for  nothing. 
We  singers,  monsieur,  have  only  our  voice ;  when 
that  is  still  there  is  no  more  of  us.  If  it  is  taken 
from  us  we  have  nothing  left.  We  put  into  it  all 
our  souls  and  our  hearts,  and  we  work  many  years, 
—  it  is  work  and  not  play,  monsieur,  —  and  we 
have  many  hard  things,  many  struggles,  sometimes 
we  lose  everything  that  other  persons  love,  even  love 
itself.  Well,  you  see,  I  would  more  gladly  give  to 
some  lady  all  the  money  that  I  have  earned  in  my  life, 
and  my  jewels,  and  my  dresses,  than  I  would  permit 
that,  when  she  sings,  the  audience  should  say, f  That 
is  Marana  ! '  " 

Wallie  looked  down,  and  made  no  answer. 

"You  have  reminded  me,"  she  went  on,  after  a 


246  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

few  moments,  "  that  this  lady  is  the  sister  of  Edward. 
Yes,  he  has  very  often  told  me  of  her ;  and  that  we 
were  a  little  alike,  —  poor  boy,  he  means  of  one 
aspect,  one  presentment ;  as  for  the  rest,  he  knows 
of  me  only  what  I  have  been  to  him.  My  other 
history  was  not  of  interest  to  him  ;  perhaps  he  would 
not  believe  it,  even  if  I  told  it  to  him ;  but,  at  least, 
he  asked  me  to  be  his  wife,  and  though  I  said  no,  it 
was  not  because  I  feared  that  he  might  cease  to  love 
me  because  of  what  he  might  afterwards  come  to 
know.  You  may  laugh  at  it,  monsieur,  but  I  think 
he  would  still  love  me,  notwithstanding  all  of  it." 

There  was  something  noble  and  touching  in  the 
way  Marana  said  this.  Wallie  did  not  feel  at  all  in- 
clined to  laugh,  and  his  face  perhaps  showed  it. 
'  "I  said  no,"  she  resumed;  "but  later,  when  I 
found  what  he  had  done,  I  said  yes,  so  that  I  might 
help  to  make  right,  and  also  because  it  is  pleasant 
for  a  singer  like  me  to  think  that  she  can  give  some- 
thing to  her  husband  in  return  for  being  his  wife. 
But  then  lie  would  not ;  in  that  he  was  like  other 
men,  who  wish  in  every  way  to  be  the  master.  But 
yet,  monsieur,  there  is  time  to  think  again,"  she 
added,  suddenly  altering  her  tone,  and  looking  at 
him  keenly ;  "  a  woman  has  much  power  over  the 
man  who  loves  her,  if  she  will  use  it ! " 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it  at  all,"  said  Wallie,  meeting 
her  look. 


PUNISHMENT.  247 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  have  power  to  make  him 
say,  '  "Well,  she  is  my  sister ;  but  she  has  done  what 
was  not  just.  You  shall  treat  her  as  if  she  were 
any  other  woman,  and  I  will  say  nothing.  I  will 
help  you'?"  continued  the  Russian,  with  a  subtle 
smile. 

"I  really  believe  you  might,"  Wallie  answered. 
"  But  I  can't  conceive  that  you  would  care  to  have 
him  do  it,  or  care  for  him  if  he  did  do  it." 

"  Ah  !  but  with  us  singers  it  can  be  different,"  re- 
joined Marana,  bending  upon  him  a  gaze  of  dark, 
ambiguous  brilliancy.  "  It  is  much  for  us  to  know, 
and  to  prove  it  to  the  world,  that  we  are  loved  be- 
yond measure  ;  yes,  beyond  honor.  It  is  a  triumph, 
and  we  love  triumphs,  — ah  !  who  knows  how  dearly  ? 
Men  do  all  they  can  to  ruin  us,  monsieur,  and  the 
world  laughs  and  gives  us  no  mercy.  Do  you  not 
think  it  might  be  sweet  to  make  one  man  your  slave, 
so  that  he  would  do  your  bidding  in  all  things,  and 
worship  you  ?  " 

"  Are  you  so  much  in  need  of  a  triumph  of  that 
kind  ?  "  demanded  Wallie.  Now,  whether  he  so  in- 
tended it  or  not,  Marana  evidently  interpreted  the 
question  as  a  covert  but  bitter  satire.  She  gave  a 
little  soft  laugh,  and  arose. 

"  At  last,  then,  we  understand  each  other  !  "  she 
said.  "It  is  much  easier  so,  is  it  not?  You  are 
too  clever  for  me,  M.  Dinsmore ;  you  are  not  a 


248  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

man  to  be  deceived.  Yes,  in  this  world,  as  the 
French  say,  il  faut  accepter  les  hommes  pour  ce 
qu'ils  sont  —  des  moyens  I  We  singers,  especially, 
must  use  all  things  for  our  protection  or  profit. 
Tiens  .  .  .  drole!  Did  you  think,  for  your 
part,  you  should  persuade  me  to  forgive  Ma'm'selle 
Randolph  because  I  make  a  fool  of  her  brother? 
Bah  !  I  am  a  business  woman.  Business  is  not 
sentiment,  I  think  !  Enfin,  m'sieu',  I  have  enjoyed 
very  much  the  honor  of  your  visit ;  foi  de  Marana, 
vous  etes  ambassadeur  parfaitement  accompli! 
But  your  little  Ma'm'selle  Randolph  has  a  future 
already  happy  in  the  protection  of  a  man  like  you ; 
she  will  not  grudge  me  the  little  that  belongs  to 
the  true  Marana  !  AM  revoir,  cher  ami!  "  And, 
laughing  once  more,  she  gave  him  her  hand  with  a 
free  gesture;  and  Wallie  bowed  over  it,  with  a 
mingling  of  admiration  and  vexation  such  as  he  was 
seldom  kindled  to.  He  had  recognized  his  mistake 
the  moment  after  it  was  irrevocable. 

"Well?"  said  Ed,  getting  up,  with  a  haggard 
face,  from  his  chair  in  the  smoking-room,  as  Wallie 
entered. 

"Well,"  responded  Wallie,  "there  is  no  doubt 
about  one  thing,  —  she  is  the  Great  Marana !  I 
think  you  may  as  well  come  with  me  and  see  your 
sister." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HOW   THEY   WERE    LOST   IN   THE    STORM. 

Ip  ROM  the  Albemarle  to  Wallie's  house  was  not  a 
long  distance ;  but  it  had  begun  to  snow,  and 
the  keen  northerly  wind  drove  the  flakes  straight 
into  the  faces  of  the  pedestrians,  and  afforded  Wallie 
a  good  excuse  for  keeping  his  mouth  shut,  or  open- 
ing it  only  for  monosyllabic  answers  to  the  questions 
which  Ed,  from  time  to  time,  addressed  to  him. 
With  all  his  pains,  he  had  undoubtedly  bungled 
the  interview  with  the  Russian  Star,  — just  at  the 
juncture,  too,  when  he  was  beginning  to  entertain 
the  best  hopes  of  success.  How  swiftly  and  effec- 
tively she  had  turned  the  tables  upon  him  !  What 
terrible  versatility  and  self-command  she  had  !  With 
\yhat  a  wicked  roguishness  had  she  fired  that  parting 
taunt  at  him  about  his  motive  in  espousing  her 
rival's  cause!  "At  any  rate,  I'm  glad  I  let  her 
have  the  last  word!"  said  Wallie  to  himself;  but 
that  was  somewhat  cold  comfort. 

He  left  Ed  in  the  drawing-room,  and  went  to  find 
Mrs.  Cadwalader  and  Beatrix.  He  sent  the  latter 
to  her  brother,  and  remained  in  conference  with  the 
former. 


250  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

Beatrix  came  softly  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
saw  Edward  standing  near  the  farther  end  of  it, 
with  his  back  toward  her.  She  paused,  and 
remained  motionless,  gazing  at  him.  Her  heart 
went  out  toward  him,  and  yet  she  shrank  from  him. 
She  wished  to  be  in  full  sympathy  with  him,  but 
Marana  seemed  to  stand  between  them.  For  when 
she  had  learned,  from  Geoffrey's  letter  to  AVallie, 
that  Marana  was  Ed's  companion,  she  had  been 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  the  relation  between 
them  must  be  an  unlawful  one  ;  and  the  circumstance 
that  Maraiia,  rather  than  any  other  woman,  should 
be  the  person  holding  this  position,  had  affected  her 
with  a  peculiar  horror.  There  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing wantonly  repugnant  in  it.  She  might  have 
prevented  herself  from  definitely  realizing  the  fact 
had  a  stranger  to  herself  been  involved ;  but, 
Marana  !  —  she  had  lived  under  her  name,  and  occu- 
pied her  place  so  long,  as  to  make  her  feel  that  she 
was  in  some  way  personally  mixed  up  in  the  catas- 
trophe. 

In  a  few  moments  Ed  turned  round  and  saw  his 
sister. 

The  personal  magnetism  of  eye  to  eye  with  those 
who  are  really  dear  to  each  other  overcomes,  for 
the  time  being,  all  scruples  and  recoilings.  When, 
therefore,  her  brother  gave  a  glad  start,  and  stepped 
toward  Beatrix  with  an  inarticulate  exclamation  of 


HOW  THEY  WERE  LOST,  ETC.  251 

affection,  she  forgot  everything  except  that  he  was 
her  brother,  with  whom  she  had  spent  her  childhood, 
who  had  cut  his  initials  on  the  banister  of  the  old 
staircase,  whose  white  roses  she  had  worn  on  her 
bosom  until  within  the  last  few  months,  by  whose 
side  she  had  ridden,  and  in  whose  company  she  had 
ransacked  the  woods  :  —  she  found  herself  with  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  kissing  him,  smiling  with  wet 
cheeks,  and  murmuring,  "Dear  Ed!  dear,  darling 
boy  !  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  again  ! " 

"  How  well  you  are  looking,  sis ! "  he  said  at 
length,  taking  her  by  the  elbows,  and  looking  at 
her.  She  was,  indeed,  beautifully  dressed,  and  her 
face  was  rosy  with  the  emotion  of  the  moment,  and, 
passion  aside,  he  cared  more  for  her  than  for  any 
one  else ;  but  he  had  not  the  eyes  to  discern  the 
traces  of  fatigue  and  anxiety  on  her  face  ;  it  takes  a 
lover  to  do  that.  When  a  man  looks  at  his  sister, 
he  thinks  of  the  past ;  when  he  looks  at  his  mistress, 
he  thinks  of  the  present  and  the  future. 

"  Why,  but  you're  a  great  swell  now,  aren't  you  ?  " 
Ed  continued,  laughingly.  His  temperament  varied 
quickly,  and  without  any  moral  reason,  between 
extremes  of  depression  and  joviality.  "  I  had  no 
idea  my  little  sis  was  going  to  come  out  on  the  top 
of  the  heap,  this  way.  I  always  said  nobody  could 
beat  you  singing,  though  ;  and  nobody  can,  though 
Vera  is  perfect  in  her  way,  too." 


252  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"  Vera?"  she  repeated,  glancing  up  quickly. 

"  That's  her  name  —  Vera  Marana.  Ah,  my  dear, 
I've  got  a  heap  to  tell  you  about  her  !  By  the  way," 
he  said,  laughing,  "  people  here,  I  suppose,  think  you 
know  more  about  Marana  than  any  one  else.  Well, 
you  do  look  a  little  like  her,  —  that's  what  first  made 
me  look  at  her.  But  I  want  you  to  know  her  ;  I'm 
certain  you'd  take  to  each  other  !  She's  the  dearest 
woman  in  the  world,  and  as  generous  and  good  as 
she  is  lovely." 

"Good?"  repeated  Beatrix,  whose  face,  during 
this  speech,  had  run  through  a  gamut  of  expressions, 
and  now  rested  in  bewilderment. 

"  Good  !  I  should  think  so.  Do  you  imagine  I'd 
want  you  to  know  her  if  she  wasn't  everything  a 
lady  should  be,  and  a  great  deal  more?  You  ought 
to  have  heard  the  way  I  sailed  into  poor  old  dad, 
just  now,  for  calling  her  names.  I  guess  he  won't 
do  it  again  !  " 

Beatrix  clapped  her  hands  together  under  her  chin, 
with  a  cry  of  almost  hysteric  joy,  and  instantly 
embraced  her  brother  again  with  all  the  added  ardor 
that  can  be  given  to  affection  by  remorse.  She  had 
wickedly  wronged  him  by  allowing  herself  to 
imagine,  even  for  a  moment,  that  he,  or  anybody 
connected  with  him,  could  ever  be  anything  but 
patterns  of  honesty  and  virtue.  For  fear  of  making 
bad  worse,  she  forbore  to  explain  to  him  the  cause 


HOW  THEY  WERE  LOST,  ETC.     253 

of  her  sudden  demonstrativeness  ;  he  should  be  made 
conscious  of  her  repentance  only  by  the  tenderness 
and  observance  which  she  would  lavish  upon  him. 
The  thought  came  into  her  mind,  also,  that,  by  her 
love  for  her  brother,  she  could  in  some  degree  com- 
pensate herself  for  the  loss  of  her  other  love,  — for 
she  told  herself  that  it  was  lost,  and  had  been 
repeating  the  statement  with  tenfold  diligence  ever 
since  learning  that  Geoffrey  had  returned  to  New 
York. 

Ed,  who  was  never  particularly  observant  of  the 
feelings  of  others,  except  when  his  own  feelings 
were  bound  up  in  them,  passed  over  all  this  little 
tumult  of  emotion  without  any  suspicions,  and,  in 
response  to  his  sister's  eagerly  expressed  interest  in 
the  subject,  talked  about  himself  and  his  affairs  to 
the  heart's  content  of  both  speaker  and  listener.  He 
no  longer  felt  the  humiliation  and  helplessness  of  his 
position  so  keenly  as  an  hour  ago ;  the  companion- 
ship of  this  sister,  whom  he  had  so  recklessly  impover- 
ished, and  to  whose  energy  and  genius  he  was  under 
such  weighty  obligations,  insensibly  began  to  put 
him  in  better  humor  with  himself  and  his  prospects. 
It  is  not  difficult  to  take  a  reassuring  view  of  our  con- 
duct, when  our  natural  bias  thereto  is  stimulated  by 
the  sympathy  of  one  who  emphasizes  the  signifi- 
cance of  all  the  favorable  features  and  brushes  out 
of  sight  all  the  ungainly  ones.  Ed  gave  his  sister 


254  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

a  picturesque  and  stirring  account  of  his  first  meet- 
ing with  Marana,  their  mutual  captivation,  what 
she  had  said,  what  he  had  answered,  what  she 
had  answered,  and  what  he  had  said.  He  made  it 
appear  plainly  that  his  spending  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  was  a  proceeding  rather  meritorious  and  self- 
sacrificing  than  otherwise,  inasmuch  as  it  would  have 
been  unworthy  a  Randolph  not  to  make  a  splendid 
appearance  in  the  eyes  of  the  woman  he  loved,  and 
amidst  such  rivals  as  those  with  whom  he  had  to  con- 
tend ;  and,  moreover  (as  he  truly  observed) ,  he  him- 
self was  the  worst  off  of  any  of  the  family,  when  the 
money  was  gone.  "  And,  of  course,"  he  added,  "  I 
had  no  idea  at  what  a  rate  I  was  going  it ;  I  declare, 
sis,  I  never  was  more  floored  than  when  dad  wrote 
me  that  we  were  '  ruined  by  my  criminal  extrava- 
gance,' as  he  put  it.  Besides,  we  shouldn't  have 
been  ruined  at  all  if  he  hadn't  gone  blundering 
down  into  Wall  Street.  That's  the  way  the  money 
went,  after  all,  and  I  can't  help  suspecting  the  old 
gentleman  is  as  much  to  blame  as  I  am." 

"  Well,  dear,  that's  all  right  now ;  and  I'm  glad 
the  money  was  gone,  since  it  gave  me  a  chance  to 
help.  But,  O  Ed  !  do  you  think' Mile.  Marana 
minds  much  ?  She  can't  think  worse  of  me  for  doing 
it  —  in  that  way,  I  mean  —  than  I  do  of  myself; 
but  what  should  we  have  done,  you  see,  if  I  hadn't 
done  it  ?  " 


HOW  THEY  WERE  LOST,  ETC.     255 

"  I  don't  blame  you  a  bit,  sis,  —  remember  that !  " 
her  brother  replied.  "  I'm  proud  of  you ;  there's 
not  another  girl  in  the  country  who  could  succeed 
as  you  have.  And  it's  a  great  deal  pleasanter  for 
me  to  come  home  and  find  the  bills  paid  than  if  I'd 
found  you  all  living  in  the  poorhouse  —  which  was 
what  I  expected.  All  I'm  sorry  for  is —  However," 
he  broke  off,  magnanimously,  "  that  can't  be  helped. 
It's  only  my  luck  !  " 

"  Dearest  boy  !  do  tell  me  everything  ! " 

Ed  heaved  a  sigh.  The  sense  of  his  misfortunes, 
dispelled  for  a  time  by  the  animation  of  his  self-vin- 
dication and.  anecdotes,  now  returned  upon  him. 
"  I'm  the  most  .unlucky  devil  alive,  and  there's  no 
use  talking  about  it,"  he  declared,  despairingly. 

"  O  Ed !  if  you  can  be  married,  what  greater 
happiness  could  there  be  ?  "  said  his  sister,  with  a 
suppressed  sigh  for  her  own  unimportant  misery. 

"  Exactly  !  but  we  can't." 

"Oh,  you  can  !  Who  says  not?  Don't  ever  let 
anything  prevent  you  !  "  Beatrix  exclaimed  with  great 
energy.  There  is  sometimes  a  bitter  consolation  in 
urging  upon  others  conduct  which  we  would  fain 
embrace  ourselves.  "If  you  love  a  person,  every- 
thing is  right  and  wise,  except  to  let  yourself  be 
parted  from  them.  But  that  is  almost  wicked  !  " 

"  What  must  be,  must !  "  responded  Ed,  in  a  still 
more  hopeless  tone,  but  not  without  a  secret  hope 


256  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

that  some  method  might  be  devised  to  escape  the 
inevitable. 

Beatrix  paused,  thinking  intently,  and  with  in- 
creasing agitation. 

"  I  believe  I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said  at 
last,  with  a  deep  undertone  of  sad  affection  in  her 
voice.  "You  think  you  ought  not  to  marry  her  be- 
cause I  am  your  sister,  —  that  is,  because  I  have 
wronged  her.  O  Ed,  that  is  it !  You  can't 
deny  it,  dear.  You  would  sacrifice  all  your  hap- 
piness so  as  not  to  seem  to  take  her  part  against 
me.  I  might  have  known  that  it  could  be  nothing 
less  noble  than  that ;  but  it  shall  not  be,  —  you 
must  not  dream  of  it !  When  she  knows  how 
sorry  I  am  —  and  she  shall  know  —  everybody  shall 
know  it !  I'll  tell  you  how  it  shall  be,"  she  con- 
tinued, springing  up  from  the  sofa  on  which  they 
were  sitting  together,  and  pacing  up  and  down, 
passing  the  fingers  of  one  hand  at  intervals  over  her 
forehead  and  hair.  At  length  she  stopped  in  front 
of  him.  "  To-morrow  evening  is  my  last  perform- 
ance," she  said.  "After  it  is  over  I  will  ask 
General  Inigo  to  tell  the  audience,  or,  perhaps,  it 
would  be  better  if  I  went  out  and  told  them  myself, 
all  the  whole  story :  how  I  come  to  take  her  place, 
and  who  I  really  am,  and  all !  After  that  she  will 
forgive  me  ;  I'll  make  her  forgive  me  for  your  sake  ; 
and  then,  Ed  dear,"  she  concluded,  with  a  misty 


HOW  THEY  WERE  LOST,  ETC.     257 

smile  and  a  tremor  of  the  lip,  "you  need  not  be 
afraid  to  make  her  my  sister  !  " 

"  It's  splendid  of  you  to  think  of  euch  a  thing, 
dear  little  sis  !  "  exclaimed  her  brother,  drawing  her 
down  to  him  and  kissing  her.  "  But  it  would  never 
do  to  go  to  work  in  that  way ;  in  the  first  place,  it 
might  knock  all  your  popularity  on  the  head.  The 
public  doesn't  understand  generous  and  elevated  con- 
duct as  I  do." 

"No  matter  if  they  don't  understand  it.  I  have 
already  made  up  my  mind  to  one  tiling,  —  I  shall 
never  sing  again  on  the  stage  after  to-morrow." 

"  What  a  notion  !     See  if  you  don't." 

"No,  indeed.  I  had  decided  on  that  before  — 
before  I  knew  anything  about  your  affairs,  you  dear 
boy  !  The  debts  are  paid,  and  papa  and  I  can  live  in 
the  old  house  again  ;  and  that  is  all  I  ever  meant  to 
do.  Being  on  the  stage  is  not  pleasant  in  some  ways  ; 
and,  besides  —  well,  at  any  rate,  I'm  determined, 
and  when  I  am  determined,  I  never  change ;  and 
I  will  tell  the  audience  so  to-morrow  night." 

"No,  no  !  I  tell  you,"  cried  Ed,  becoming  lively 
again,  "  if  singing  won't  do  for  you  on  the  stage, 
speechifying's  out  of  the  question.  You'd  be  like 
these  women's-rights  geese.  There's  no  necessity 
for  it,  either.  If  Vera  knows  that  you  wouldn't  feel 
hurt  at  my  marrying  her,  I  dare  say  she'd  come 
round  all  right.  The  only  difficulty  then  would  be, 


258  BEATRIX  EANDOLPH. 

that  I  should  seem  to  be,  in  a  certain  way,  dependent 
on  her.  But  I  have  been  thinking,  the  last  few  days, 
that  I'd  go  into  some  profession,  —  engineering,  or 
architecture,  or  something  of  that  kind  ;  and  then  I 
guess  I  could  be  making  money  enough,  in  a  year  or 
two,  to  take  the  edge  off  the  thing.  I'm  not  a  fool, 
sis,  though  maybe  I  have  acted  rather  like  one." 

"You  are  the  dearest  and  best  brother  in  the 
world, "said  Beatrix,  with  the  gentleness  of  profound 
conviction  ;  and  on  the  heels  of  this  moderate  state- 
ment "VVallie  Dinsmore  came  into  the  room,  and  in- 
vited Edward  to  sit  down  to  a  cold  lunch  with  him. 
"The  ladies  would  not  wait  for  us,"  he  observed, 
"  and  it  would  be  foolhardy  for  us  to  Avait  for  dinner. 
Of  course,  Miss  Randolph  and  Mrs.  Dinsmore  will 
pour  out  our  beer  for  us." 

Edward  assented ;  but  Beatrix,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  excused  herself  on  some  feminine  plea, 
and,  refusing  any  escort  or  offer  of  a  carriage,  set  out 
on  foot  towards  her  home,  —  as  she  had  accustomed 
herself  to  call  it.  The  evening  was  now  at  hand, 
though  it  lacked  something  of  four  o'clock.  The 
sidewalks  were  covered  with  a  drifting  layer  of 
white,  and  the  flakes  still  swirled  and  dangled  down- 
ward from  the  obscure  blankness  overhead.  As 
Beatrix,  walking  briskly,  approached  Madison  square, 
the  frigid  glare  of  the  electric  lamp,  from  the  sum- 
mit of  its  immense  mast,  marked  itself  out  on  the 


THEY  WERE  LOST,  ETC.  259 

storm  like  a  gigantic  tent  of  light.  Warmly  wrapped 
in  her  fur-lined  cloak,  Beatrix  did  not  mind  the 
snow  and  wind ;  they  gave  her  a  kind  of  pleasure  ; 
she  felt  strengthened  and  heartened  by  the  robust 
pungency  of  the  atmosphere.  It  reminded  her  of 
her  winters  in  the  old  place  far  up  the  Hudson,  — 
the  days  of  frozen  forests  and  gigantic  snowballs, 
and  the  long  icicles  hanging  from  the  eaves  on  the 
south-west  corner.  Well,  her  work  was  all  but 
done,  and  she  might  begin  that  life  again  as  soon  as 
she  pleased.  But  could  that  life  ever  begin  again 
for  her  ?  After  all  the  events  and  experiences  of  this 
season  could  she,  in  a  moment,  become  Beatrix  Ran- 
dolph once  more?  Had  not  the  name  of  Marana 
carried  some  spell  with  it,  Avhose  effects  would  never 
leave  her  ?  As  she  speculated  thus ,  and  her  heart  began 
to  sink  again,  she  turned  the  corner  of  Fifth  avenue, 
and  came  into  collision  with  a  gentleman  who  was 
proceeding  swiftly  in  the  opposite  direction. 

Her  head  was  bent,  her  veil  was  over  her  eyes, 
the  air  was  full  of  snow  and  the  confusing  dazzle  of 
street  lights ;  it  was  impossible  that  she  should  know 
who  this  man  was  ;  and  yet  she  did  know  at  once, 
and  she  even  fancied  that  she  had  anticipated  the 
meeting  a  moment  before  it  occurred.  And,  first,  a 
great  wave  of  joy  seemed  to  swell  and  murmur  in  her 
heart ;  and  then  she  called  to  mind  all  manner  of 
unwelcome  and  crippling  considerations,  and  drew 


260  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

herself  together  in  a  defensive  attitude.  Physically, 
she  stopped,  breathing  quickly,  and  removing  one 
hand  from  her  muff  to  keep  down  her  veil.  She 
thought  that  he  would  perhaps  not  recognize  her. 
But  a  man  can  recognize  the  woman  he  loves  by  a 
glimpse  of  the  movement  of  her  shoulder,  far  off  in 
a  crowd,  —  nay,  by  the  toss  of  the  feather  in  her 
hat.  The  magic  of  love  consists  mainly  in  its 
stimulating  us  to  use  our  senses ;  and  then  we  are 
surprised  to  discover  what  a  marvellous  capacity  and 
keenness  those  senses  have.  The  heavenly  intelli- 
gence of  angels  can  only  be  the  result  of  the  depth 
and  ardor  of  their  power  to  love. 

"  Mademoiselle  "  —  he  began,  and  stopped,  for 
he  had  never  called  her  by  her  real  name,  and 
though  he  knew,  now,  what  it  was,  it  had  no  per- 
sonal association  with  her  in  his  mind.  "I  was 
going  to  find  you,"  he  continued. 

"I  was  not  lost.  So  you  have  returned,  Mr. 
Bellingham  ?  " 

"I  must  speak  to  you,  Miss  Randolph  !  " 
"Is  it  necessary,  on  this  corner?     A  singer  must 
be  careful  of  her  throat,  you  know." 

"  Take  my  arm.     I'll  get  a  hack  for  you." 
"  Thank  you  ;  I  am  doing  very  well." 
She  walked  on,  and  he  walked  beside  her.     The 
facilities  for  conversation  were  certainly  not  good, 
even  had  the  readiness  been  there.     He  was  six  or 


HOW  THEY  WERE  LOST,  ETC.  261 

seven  inches  taller  than  she,  and  he  was  obliged  to 
stoop,  and  speak  loud,  in  order  to  ensure  her  hearing 
him,  while  he  was  in  danger  of  missing  or  mis- 
interpreting the  muffled  murmur  of  her  replies.  But 
there  was  in  Bellingham  a  great  deal  of  constancy 
and  concentration  of  purpose. 

"  I  don't  expect  you  to  forgive  me,"  he  said. 
"Only  understand  that  I  run  never  forgive-  myself. 
Such  a  blunder  should  have  been  impossible  to  a 
man  who  felt  toward  you  as  I  did.  If  I  had  1,-eni 
worth  your  caring  for,  I  should  not  have  made  it." 

"  It  was  natural ;  you  could  not  have  done  any- 
thing else ;  I  do  not  blame  you,"  said  Beatrix, 
through  her  veil.  Geoffrey  did  not  wholly  catch 
her  words  ;  he  understood  her  to  say  that  such  a 
mistake  was  only  to  be  expected  of  him  ;  and  his 
face  fell.  She  perceived  the  change  in  him,  and 
faltered  out,  "  I  mean  that  I  do  forgive  you  !  "  But 
a  Fifth-avenue  stage,  rattling  by  just  then,  drowned 
this  sentence  altogether. 

"I  don't  mean  to  persecute  you,"  he  remarked, 
speaking  in  a  monotonous  tone,  as  they  walked 
onward  side  by  side.  "I  didn't  return  from  Europe 
for  that ;  I  merely  wanted  you  to  know.  I  used  to 
think  that,  whatever  happened,  I  could  always  think 
and  act  like  a  man  who  believed  in  goodness,  and  — 
purity.  But  I  failed  at  the  important  moment,  an-.l 
you  may  be  right, — it  was  only  natural  in  me. 


262  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

For  a  long  time  —  many  years  —  before  I  met  you 
I  had  nothing  to  do  with  women,  and  thought  as 
little  as  possible  about  them.  You  seemed  to  me, 
when  I  first  saw  you,  everything  that  I  most  wanted, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  everything  that  I  most  dis- 
liked. It  was  the  contradiction  between  what  I  felt 
you  were  and  what  I  thought  you  were.  That  began 
with  our  first  evening,  and  went  on  exaggerating 
itself  until  the  end.  That's  my  story,  Miss  Ran- 
dolph. After  all  it's  only  a  long  way  of  saying,  fl 
made  a  mistake,  and  beg  your  pardon.'" 

Beatrix  heard  all  this,  and  the  more  she  heard  the 
more  tormented  she  felt,  and  the  faster  she  tried  to 
walk ;  but  the  sidewalks  were  slippery,  and,  at  last, 
in  crossing  a  street,  her  foot  slipped,  and  she  would 
have  fallen  if  Geoffrey  had  not  caught  her  arm. 
She  stopped,  pressing  her  hands,  which  were  clasped 
inside  her  muff,  against  her  heart,  and  glancing  this 
way  and  that,  like  a  bird  that  knows  not  which  way 
to  fly.  She  was  in  just  such  a  half-frantic,  half- 
hopeless  mood  as  often  prompts  women  to  acts  which 
appear — and  perhaps  really  are  —  insane.  She 
knew  that  on  the  passing  moment  depended  proba- 
bly the  failure  or  success,  the  happiness  or  misery, 
of  her  whole  future  life.  She  knew  that  everything 
was  going  topsy-turvv,  absurdly  and  gratuitously 
wrong.  And  she  felt  paralyzed  —  wholly  unable  to 
utter  a  word  to  set  everything  right :  a  word  would 


HOW  THEY  WERE  LOST,   ETC.  263 

have  done  it.  What  prevented  her?  In  part,  per- 
haps, the  very  urgency  of  her  desire,  which  tripped 
up  its  performance.  But  what  appeared  to  be  the 
real  obstacles  were  utterly  trivial  material  accidents, 
such  as  being  in  the  open  street,  being  buffeted  by 
the  wind,  being  obstructed  by  her  veil, 'being  unable 
to  see  the  expression  of  Bellingham's  face,  because 
it  was  in  shadow.  The  more  despicably  small  the 
hindrances  were,  and  the  more  out  of  proportion 
with  the  thing  they  were  hindering,  the  less  could 
Beatrix  prevail  against  them.  So  it  often  seems  to 
be  in  this  world  :  it  is  not  only  that  the  mountain  in 
labor  brings  forth  a  mouse,  but  that  a  mouse  pre- 
vents the  bringing  forth  of  a  mountain. 

Bellingham,  also,  was  wretchedly  aware  that  he 
had  ruined  whatever  little  chance  he  may  have  had ; 
that  he  had  spoken  baldly  and  perfunctorily,  with  a 
frozen  tongue,  although  his  heart  was  on  fire.  He 
could  not  help  it :  he  could  have  died  for  her  on  the 
spot,  but  he  could  not  put  into  his  voice  or  face  as 
much  life  as  would  have  kept  a  gnat  in  motion.  It 
w;is  all  over. 

"  Will  you  stop  this  stage  for  me,  please  ?  "  Beatrix 
had  said,  as  another  of  those  gorgeous  vehicles  came 
swinging  and  lumbering  along. 

"  With  pleasure  !  "  Bellingham  replied,  —  not 
ironically,  but  mechanically.  The  stage  pulled  up  ; 
he  handed  all  he  loved  in  the  world  up  the  step ;  he 


264  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

saw  her  fall  into  a  seat,  and  then,  with  a  jerk  and 
a  hoof-clatter,  stage  and  all  disappeared  in  the  gloom 
and  snow.  Bellingham  remained  for  a  few  moments 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  like  a  policeman  ;  till,  rec- 
ollecting himself,  he  saw  before  him  the  hospitable 
entrance  of  Delmonico's,  and  went  in  there. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    GREAT   MARANA. 

ri  THE  next  night  was  the  last  of  the  opera  season, 
and  the  prima  donna  who  had  attained  such  un- 
exampled popularity  with  the  New  York  public  was 
to  bid  them  farewell  in  the  same  character  in  which 
she  had  made  their  acquaintance, — the  Gretchen 
of  Faust.  She  had  intended  to  spend  the  day  as 
much  as  possible  in  solitude  ;  she  wished  to  think, — 
to  work  into  her  mind  and  arrange  the  throng  of  ideas 
that  were  crowding  one  another  there  ;  to  review  what 
was  past,  to  contemplate  what  might  be  to  conic. 
But  it  all  turned  out  differently.  She  was  allowed 
no  repose  from  morning  till  night.  There  was  a 
multitude  of  petty  matters  to  attend  to,  many  people 
to  see  ;  at  another  time  much  of  this  might  have 
seemed  to  her  of  no  little  importance ;  but  now  all 
passed  before  her  like  a  troublesome  dream,  and 
when  night  came  she  could  not  have  given  a  clear 
account  of  anything  that  had  happened.  There  had 
been  an  unexpected  and  painful  scene  with  Madame 
Bemax,  who  had  fallen  into  a  sort  of  fren/y.  ami 
grasped  the  skirts  of  Beatrix's  dress,  and  poured  forth 


266  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

a  long  and  revolting  story  about  the  wrongs  she  had 
endured  from  Hamilton  Jocelyn  ;  had  ended  by  call- 
ing herself  a  wretch,  and  declaring  that  unless 
Beatrix  pardoned  her  she  would  kill  herself.  Beatrix 
pardoned  her  immediately,  Avith  only  a  confused  un- 
derstanding of  what  she  was  pardoning  her  for  ;  but 
she  could  see  that  the  woman  was  in  great  distress 
of  mind,  and  that  was  something  she  could  sympa- 
thize with.  She  had  seen  Ed  and  her  father,  and 
Wallie  Dinsmore  ;  there  had  been  a  great  deal  of 
discussjon,  and  some  disputing,  ending,  apparently, 
in  a  sort  of  conditional  reconciliation ;  but  she  had 
been  unable  to  keep  her  attention  fixed  on  the  subject 
long  enough  at  a  time  to  comprehend  the  bearings  of 
it.  She  had  also  seen  Inigo,  who  was  in  an  agitated 
frame  of  mind,  jumping  up  from  his  chair  and  sitting 
down  again  twenty  times,  asking  questions  which  he 
tried  to  answer  himself,  talking  about  his  reputation, 
about  his  fidelity  to  his  contracts,  about  his  financial 
liberality,  and  about  Mile.  Marana,  whom  he  alter- 
nately abused  and  praised,  and  between  whom  and 
Beatrix  he  seemed  anxious  to  bring  about  an  inter- 
view. Beatrix  was  willing,  even  desirous,  that  the 
interview  should  take  place ;  but  nothing  of  the  sort 
happened,  and  the  inference  was  that  Mile.  Marana 
must  have  declined.  Altogether,  the  evening  fell 
ominously.  But,  as  Beatrix  drove  to  the  theatre  in 
a  covered  sleigh,  a  kind  of  calmness,  almost  happi- 


THE    ORE  AT  MAEANA.  267 

ness,  came  over  her.  These  regular  meetings  with 
her  audiences  had  grown  to  be  an  indescribable  re- 
source and  support  to  her.  They  enabled  her  to 
throw  aside  herself  and  her  affairs  ;  to  appeal  from 
the  narrow  and  interested  circle  of  her  private  friends 
and  enemies  to  the  vast,  impersonal,  careless,  good- 
humored  world  of  the  public,  who  loved  and  ap- 
plauded her  artistic  self,  and  knew  and  cared  nothing 
about  her  real  thoughts  and  existence.  How  would 
it  be  when  this  resource  no  longer  remained  to  her? 
She  put  that  question  aside  ;  and  the  porter  at  the 
stage  entrance,  who  attached  great  importance  to  the 
smile  of  greeting  he  received  each  evening  from  the 
Diva,  reported  on  this  occasion  that  the  dear  lady 
had  seemed  to  be  in  especially  good  spirits.  More- 
over she  had  slipped  into  his  hand  a  snuff-box  (he 
was  a  Hanoverian,  and  took  snuff),  containing,  not 
snuff,  but  a  fifty-dollar  bank-note. 

A  few  hours  before  the  theatre  opened  Wallie 
Dinsmore  had  met  Geoffrey  Bellingham  in  that 
general  rendezvous  of  American  celebrities,  —  the 
corridor  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 

"I've  been  looking  for  you  for  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours,"  he  said,  "  but  tins  is  the  last  place  I  ex- 
pected to  see  you  in.'1 

"  Maybe  th::t's  why  I'm  here."  responded  Geoffrey, 
laconically. 

"I  wanted  you  to  dine  with  me  yesterday." 


268  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

"  I  went  to  Delmonico's." 

"  Europe  has  demoralized  you." 

"Perhaps.  I  saw  Hamilton  Jocelyn  there,  and 
Inigo.  That  fellow's  a  scoundrel." 

« Inigo?" 

"  Jocelyn,  Do  you  know  what  he  has  been  doing  ? 
They  had  both  of  them  been  drinking,  and  it  leaked 
out.  He  has  been  defrauding  Miss  Randolph  of  a 
part  of  her  salary,  —  about  twenty-five  or  thirty 
thousand  dollars." 

"  Then  the  agreement  was  for  four  thousand  ?  " 

"  Inigo  paid  that  to  Jocelyn  for  her.  Jocelyn 
kept  back  part.  It  seems  to  have  been  a  sort  of  ar- 
rangement between  Jocelyn  and  Inigo,  — I  imagine 
Inigo  allowed  it,  to  keep  Jocelyn  quiet.  It  was  a 
rascally  transaction,  as  I  told  them  ;  the  fellow  ought 
to  be  locked  up.  He's  not  to  be  found  to-day,  and 
I  expect  he's  cleared  out." 

"  Very  likely.  That  Madame  Bemax  seems  to  have 
had  something  against  him,  too.  But  if  this  new 
Marana  can  only  be  pacified,  I  shall  be  content  to 
let  the  rest  go.  Of  course  you  will  be  at  the  opera 
to-night  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  That's  absurd  !     You  must  come." 

•"  No  ;  why  should  I?  You  have  chosen  to  sup- 
pose that  there  was  something  between  Miss  Ran- 
dolph and  me.  I  never  .cared  to  undeceive  you,  — 


TEE   GREAT  MARANA.  269 

it  would  have  been  giving  the  affair  too  much  im- 
portance. But,  whatever  there  might  have  been, 
there  is  certainly  nothing  now,  nor  ever  will  be." 

"  If  I  was  deceived,  then  I  don't  see  why  you 
refuse  to  come  to-night." 

"  I  simply  don't  care  to,"  said  Bellingham,  ab- 
ruptly. 

AVallie  looked  at  him,  and  decided  that  the  wisest 
course  would  be  not  to  press  him  any  further.  They 
parted,  and  Bellingham  went  to  his  rooms,  lit  a  lamp, 
and  sat  himself  down  to  read.  But  when  the  hour 
for  the  performance  approached,  he  closed  the  book, 
dressed  himself,  and  drove  to  the  theatre.  He  could 
not  resist  this  impulse.  When  he  arrived  the  over- 
ture was  just  concluding.  "  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
get  a  place,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  it  is  just  as  well." 
But  when  he  presented  himself  at  the  ticket-office, 
the  clerk,  who  recognized  him,  remarked  with  a 
smile,  "  Just  one  seat  vacant,  Mr.  Bellingham,  and 
that  is  the  one  you  used  to  occupy  the  first  of  the 
season  ;  will  you  have  it  ?  "  It  seemed  like  manifest 
destiny.  "  All  right,"  said  Bellingham.  He  took 
the  ticket,  entered  the  house,  and  sat  down.  As  he 
did  so,  the  curtain  rose. 

The  interval  between  this  night  and  the  one  on 
which  he  had  last  been  here  enabled  him  to  draw  u 
comparison  between  the  Gretchen  of  the  debut  and 
this  of  the  farewell.  There  was  a  sentimental  feeling 


270  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

perceptible  among  the  audience.  The  American 
people  are  fond  of  sentiment,  when  managed  dra- 
matically ;  and  this,  no  doubt,  had  its  effect  on  the 
singer,  and  warmed  and  sweetened  the  music  of  her 
voice.  But,  such  accidents  aside,  it  was  evident  that 
she  had  improved,  though  precisely  in  what  respect 
Bellingham  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  say. 
Her  manner  was  less  exuberant,  more  concise  and 
true.  She  had  learned  her  power  and  her  resources, 
and  used  them  with  full  confidence  and  art.  In  her 
singing,  moreover,  could  be  discerned,  not  the  music 
merely,  but  the  human  character  which  the  poet 
portrayed.  When  she  was  on  the  stage  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  realize  the  separate  existence  of  anything  else  ; 
wherever  she  stood  she  was  the  centre  and  reason  of 
the  scene.  Every  gesture  and  movement  was  an 
enlightenment  and  a  gratification.  She  was  always 
where  she  belonged ;  each  thing  she  did  so  nicely 
fitted  the  occasion  that  the  spectator  fancied  he  had 
known  beforehand  that  it  would  so  be  done.  "  This 
is  what  she  was  born  for,"  said  Bellingham  to  him- 
self, with  gloomy  frankness.  "I  should  only  have 
been  in  the  way.  I'm  glad  I  came  here,  if  only  to 
have  made  sure  of  that.  Such  a  woman  should  no 
more  be  monopolized  and  caged  in  domesticity  than 
a  waterfall  or  a  strain  of  music.  The  mischief  of  it 
is  that  I  did  not  recognize  the  fact  before." 

As  he  sat  absorbed  in  her.  and  happy  in  spite  of 


THE    GREAT   MARANA.  271 

his  unhappiness,  he  noticed  that  she  carried  in  her 
girdle  a  bunch  of  marguerites.  The  discovery  gave 
him  a  gradual  start,  so  to  say;  he  became  only 
slowly  aware  how  much  it  surprised  and  affected 
him.  He  had  always  provided  her  with  a  bunch  of 
them,  whenever  she  sang  in  Faust,  from  the  first  day 
onward.;  often  not  without  difficulty,  for  daisies  do 
not  grow  in  northern  meadows  all  the  year 
round.  Had  she,'  during  his  absence,  been  procur- 
ing them  for  herself ;  or  was  this  the  first  occasion 
of  her  wearing  them  since  he  went  away?  The 
former  was  much  the  more  likely ;  actresses  be- 
come accustomed  to  little  particulars  of  the  toilet, 
and  are  not  at  ease  without  them.  Nevertheless, 
Bellingham  could  not  banish  the  notion  that  the 
latter  alternative  might  be  the  true  one.  Did  he 
believe  it  because  he  wished  it?  Why  should  he 
wish  it?  It  was  useless  to  torment  himself  with 
such  questions.  In  matters  appertaining  to  Miss 
Randolph  he  seemed  to  be  swayed  by  an  influence, 
a  fate,  an  attraction,  almost  independent  of  his  own 
will  and  reason.  What  could  be  more  unreasonable 
than  to  suppose  that  this  bunch  of  marguerites  was 
a  secret  signal  to  him  to  come  to  her,  to  speak  with 
her,  to  be  once  more  all  that  he  had  been  to  her  — 
and  more  ?  Had  not  that  interview  in  last  evening's 
snow-storm  put  an  end  to  all  such  anticipations? 
But,  again,  was  this  the  same  woman  who  had  van- 


272  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

ished  from  him  in  the  'bus  on  that  occasion?  With 
so  much  difference  in  her  surroundings,  was  there 
none  in  her?  Well,  she  had  betrayed  no  conscious- 
ness of  his  presence  to-night.  They  had  exchanged 
no  glance,  as  sometimes  in  the  former  days.  After 
all  was  said  and  done,  however,  Bellingham  knew 
that  he  should  find  himself  behind  the  scenes,  face  to 
face  with  her,  before  the  night  was  over. 

Inigo,  by  what  he  considered  a  bold  stroke  of 
statesmanship,  had  placed  one  of  the  stage-boxes  at 
the  disposal  of  Mile.  Marana,  known  as  Mrs.  Peters. 
"If  she  means  to  make  a  row,"  he  argued,  "treating 
her  gentlemanly  won't  make  it  worse ;  and  it  may 
just  tone  her  down  a  little."  But,  whatever  the 
lady  may  have  thought  of  the  compliment,  she 
omitted  to  avail  herself  of  the  box.  When  the  cur- 
tain rose  she  had  not  arrived ;  and  the  box  remained 
empty  all  the  evening.  This  was  of  evil  omen  to 
the  peace  and  friendly  feeling  which  General  Inigo 
was  so  solicitous  to  ensure.  He  resorted  frequently 
to  the  bar,  though  with  no  good  effect  on  his 
anxiety.  "  Now,  what  the  blazes  can  she  be  up  to, 
eh?"  he  frequently  asked  himself  and  the  elder 
Randolph,  as  the  hours  passed  away.  He  seemed 
to  think  she  was  quite  capable  of  coming  into  the 
house  with  a  nihilist  bomb,  by  way  of  expressing 
her  dissatisfaction'.  As  for  Ed,  he  knew  as  little 
about  her  as  any  one  else,  though  he  had  learned,  be- 


THE    GREAT  MARANA.  273 

fore  coming  down  to  the  theatre,  that  she  was  not 
in  her  rooms  at  the  hotel.  She  had  gone  out,  but 
had  not  left  word  where  she  was  going. 

The  audience  seemed  determined,  on  this  night, 
to  surpass  all  previous  demonstrations  of  enthusi- 
asm. A  cynic  might  have  said  that  they  had  set 
their  hearts  on  reading,  in  the  next  morning's  papers, 
that  the  applause  and  floral  tributes  which  greeted  the 
great  singer  on  the  eve  of  her  departure  from  our 
shores  were  such  as  to  outdo  anything  hitherto  ex- 
perienced. The  popular  favorite  was  summoned  in- 
numerable times  before  the  curtain ;  and,  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  performance —  But  before  the 
conclusion  of  the  performance  some  events  happened 
which  did  not  appear  in  the  papers,  but  which  it  will 
be  necessary  to  relate. 

As  the  curtain  descended  upon  the  last  act  but 
one,  General  Inigo,  who  was  in  the  side  scenes,  re- 
ceived a  card,  which  seemed  to  have  upon  him  an 
effect  as  of  a  strong  charge  of  electricity.  He  ran 
precipitately  to  the  private  door  communicating  be- 
tween the  house  and  the  stage,  where  a  lady 
standing,  much  muffled  up.  She  wore  a  black  dress 
and  cloak,  and  her  head  and  shoulders  were  envel- 
oped in  a  white  lace  shawl.  She  let  this  fall  open 
as  Inigo  approached,  and  disclosed  the  features  of 
Vera  Marnna.  She  laughed  good-naturedly,  and 
gave  him  her  hand,  which  he  covered  with  kisses, 


274  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

while  his  eyes  devoured  her  with  astonishment  and 
interrogation. 

"Well,  M.  Moses,"  said  she,  "what  are  you  so 
affectionate  for  ?  Have  you  pardoned  me  ?  " 

"  Pardoned  —  !  Ah  !  Diva  !  By  Jupiter  !  Did 
you  just  come  ?  " 

"  I  was  here  from  the  first ;  but  not  in  the  box  — 
no  ;  one  cannot  hear  there.  I  was  away  among  the 
common  ones.  It  was  necessary  I  should  know 
what  she  could  do  —  this  young  lady  —  this  other 
self!  Well,  mon  ami,  you  may  compose  yourself. 
I  have  heard  her,  now  I  wish  to  see  her  —  speak  to 
her.  Conduct  me  where  she  is,  and  then  leave  us. 
Is  any  one  with  her  ?  " 

"  Only  her  brother.      Shall  I "  — 

"  _Z?i*en,  bien!  Lead  on,  mon  vieux,  I  am  in  a 
hurry." 

When  he  had  brought  her  to  the  door  of  Beatrix's 
room  she  made  him  depart,  and  then  knocked  at  the 
door.  It  was  opened  by  Ed.  She  made  him  a 
gesture  at  once  of  greeting  and  of  silence,  and  ad- 
vanced into  the  room,  which  was  filled  with  flowers. 
Beatrix  was  reclining  on  her  sofa,  with  a  sad  and 
abstracted  expression ;  but  as  she  raised  her  eyes, 
and  met  those  of  her  visitor,  she  sat  erect,  and  the 
next  moment  rose  to  her  feet.  "  You  are  —  Marana  !  " 
she  said,  in  an  inward  tone.  The  two  women  gazed 
intently  at  each  other,  and  there  was  silence  for  sev- 


THE    GREAT  MAEANA.  275 

eral  seconds.  At  last  the  visitor  said,  "I  have 
thought  I  was  Marana  until  now.  But  now,  mad- 
emoiselle, the  name  is  yours,  by  the  right  that  you 
have  made  it  more  honorable." 

"  Oh,  no  — no  !"  the  other  murmured. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  said  Marana,  with  a  smile, 
which,  however,  was  quickly  lost  in  the  gravity  of 
her  reigning  expression.  "  You  have  surprised  me," 
she  continued,  after  a  pause  ;  "I  did  not  mean  to  for- 
give you  !  I  was  angry.  But  your  voice  has  called 
my  heart  out  of  my  bosom ;  there  is  no  one  who  can 
sing  like  you,  — no  one,  —  not  even  I !  " 

The  tone  in  which  these  words  were  uttered  — 
dignified,  but  profoundly  pathetic,  as  of  a  great 
queen  discrowning  herself — touched  Beatrix  to  the 
soul,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  shook  her 
head :  but  she  could  not  speak.  After  all,  there 
was  a  ravishing  sweetness  in  this  praise,  coming 
from  the  one  source  in  the  world  which  there  could 
be  no  gainsaying. 

"  You  two  ought  to  pull  in  a  team,"  put  in  Ed. 
"  No  theatre  standing  would  hold  the  audiences  that 
would  come  to  hear  you  sing  together  !  " 

Marana  made  a  gesture  of  negation  with  her  head. 
"There  shall  never  be  but  one  Marana,"  she  said 
proudly,  "  and  she  shall  be  the  greatest  singer  in  the 
world  !  Behold  her  !  "  she  added,  with  a  movement 
of  her  eyes  towards  Beatrix.  "As  for  me,  I  sing 


276  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

no  more !  I  have  been  your  audience,  Madem- 
oiselle :  I  will  never  again  have  an  audience  of  my 
own ! " 

"  Do  not  say  it !  —  you  break  my  heart !  "  cried 
Beatrix ;  and  she  glided  forward,  and  took  the 
Russian  impetuously  in  her  arms.  "  Tell  her,  Ed," 
she  said,  half  turning  to  appeal  to  him,  but  not  let- 
ting Marana  go.  "  It  is  I  who  shall  sing  no  more  ;  I 
did  it  only  to  help  my  father  and  him.  This  is  the 
last  night.  If  you  care  for  him,  do  not  punisli  his 
sister.  Be  yourself  again,  and  be  my  sister,  too  !  " 

Marana  drew  her  head  back,  and  gazed  for  a 
moment  into  the  other's  eyes.  Then  she  kissed  her 
gravely  on  both  cheeks,  and  disengaged  herself. 
"You  believe,  then,  that  I  really  love  your 
brother?"  said  she. 

"Yes,  indeed!  How  could  you  help  it?"  ex- 
claimed Beatrix,  warmly. 

"  And  you,  monsieur,  what  have  you  to  say  ?  "  con- 
tinued the  other,  letting  her  eyes  rest  upon  him  with 
a  certain  veiled  intensity,  the  lids  half  drooped. 
"  Are  you  also  of  opinion  that  .  .  .  you  are  not 
indifferent  to  me  ?  " 

"It  would  take  a  cleverer  man  than  I  am  to  see 
through  you,  Vera,"  returned  the  young  gentleman, 
naively  ;  "but  I  <L>n't  believe  that  I  could  be  loving 
you  so  much  as  I  do,  if  you  didn't  love  me  back ! " 

"  But  would  you  marry  me,  even?  " 


THE   GREAT  MARANA.  277 

Ed's  face  flushed,  and  his  eyes  sparkled.  "Haven't 
I  shown  that  I  would?"  he  demanded,  between  his 
teeth.  "  Don't  make  game  of  me,  Vera,  unless  you 
mean  to  be  kind  afterwards  !  " 

She  stood  looking  at  him,  her  head  a  little  bent  to 
the  left,  her  arms  hanging  down  on  both  sides  of  her 
graceful  figure.  "^  mean  to  be  kind  to  you,  my 
dear,"  she  said,  finally,  in  a  low  tone;  "more  kind 
than  you  would  think  if  you  knew  what  I  have  some- 
times been  in  my  life." 

"Ed,  I  am  so  glad,"  whispered  Beatrix  to  him  in 
the  little  pause  that  followed ;  but  the  whisper  was 
tremulous,  for  a  sense  of  her  own  forlornness  must 
needs  insinuate  itself.  "You  won't  forget  me,  will 
you?  —  because  I  love  you  too,"  she  added. 

But  Ed,  who  was  familiar  with  the  expressions  on 
Marana's  face,  wore  an  anxious  contraction  on  his 
forehead ;  he  drew  in  his  lips  and  held  his  breath. 

"I  had  given  up  expecting  love  when  I  met  you," 
she  continued,  her  bosom  visibly  rising  and  falling. 
"I  am  not  going  to  spoil  it,  now  that  it  has  come. 
For  that,  also,  you  may  partly  thank  your  sister. 
She  has  made  me  feel  that  it  is  good  to  be  generous. 
You  have  never  known  me.  I  showed  you  only  the 
best ;  it  was  true,  but  it  was  not  all.  If  I  were 
your  wife  you  would  haj'e  to  know  all.  I  should  not 
mind  for  myself,  but  I  should  not  like  you  to  learn 
that  love  is  less  lovely  than  it  seems  now  —  at  least, 


278  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

not  from  me.  Yesterday  you  might  have  married  me  ; 
but  to-day — no  !  My  memory  will  be  pleasanter  to 
you  than  I  should  be  after  a  while.  We  will  say 
good-by."  She  put  out  her  left  hand  toward  him 
and  smiled.  "  Good-by  !  " 

He  covered  his  face  with  the  back  of  his  hand. 
"I  can't  bear  it !  "  he  said,  in  a  broken  voice. 

Marana's  inscrutable  face  quivered  for  a  moment ; 
she  seemed  to  waver ;  she  swayed  slightly  toward 
him  as  she  stood  ;  her  lips  parted  and  her  eyes  shone. 
But  then,  with  a  deep  breath,  she  regained  her  self- 
command.  She  looked  at  Beatrix,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "You  must  comfort  him."  Then  she  turned, 
with  a  sweep  of  her  black  dress,  moved  to  the  door, 
and  opened  it.  Bellingham  and  Wallie  Dinsmore 
were  just  approaching. 

"You  are  late,  messieurs,"  exclaimed  Marana,  in 
a  gay  tone.  "  I  have  been  offering  my  homage  !  " 

Wallie  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  three, 
quietly  observant.  Ed,  with  his  face  averted,  was 
putting  on  his  overcoat  and  hat ;  he  then  pulled  the 
brim  of  the  latter  over  his  eyes  and  went  hastily  out, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left.  Beatrix,  with 
one  hand  resting  on  the  marble  dressing-table,  and 
her  eyes  wide  open,  stood  in  a  sort  of  trance.  She 
had  not  yet  seen  Bellingham.  Wallie  offered  Ma- 
rana his  arm. 

"Since  you  are  going,  Diva,"  he   said,  "permit 


THE    GREAT  MARANA.  279 

me  to  escort  YOU.  You  misunderstood  me  yesterday 
morning.  Whatever  homage  I  have  to  offer  shall 
be  paid  to  you." 

Bellingham,  thus  abandoned  to  his  own  guidance, 
strode  up  to  Beatrix,  who  uttered  a  cry ;  it  seemed 
to  her  as  if  he  had  suddenly  started  up  out  of  the 
floor.  It  had  been  his  purpose  to  make  a  final  ap- 
peal to  her,  and  no  doubt  his  words  would  have  been 
eloquent  and  moving,  and  possibly  they  might  have 
gained  him  his  object ;  though  he  would  have  had  to 
contend  against  the  incomprehensible  doubts,  hesita- 
tions, perversity,  and  pride  of  a  woman  who  loves 
and  knows  that  she  is  loved,  and  yet  draws  back  for 
the  sake  of  something,  —  Heaven  knows  what.  But, 
as  it  happened,  not  a  syllable  of  Bellingham's  appeal 
was  ever  uttered.  For,  before  he  could  open  his 
lips  to  begin,  the  bell  rang  which  conveys  the  order 
for  the  curtain  to  rise  on  the  last  act.  So  he,  per- 
ceiving that  there  was  no  time  to  lose,  simply  caught 
Beatrix  in  his  arms,  met  her  eyes  for  an  instant,  and 
kissed  her.  After  that,  it  was  too  late  for  her  to 
draw  back,  even  had  she  wished  to.  She  went  to 
take  her  part  on  the  stage,  but  she  left  a  marguerite 
in  Bellingham's  hand. 

Such  is  the  private  history  of  that  memorable  la-: 
night,  the  other  details  of  which  have  been  sufficiently 
described  in  the  journals  of  the  period.  Mrs.  Peters 
is  understood  to  have  sailed  for  Europe  a  day  or  two 


280  BEATRIX  RANDOLPH. 

later.  Jocelyn  disappeared,  leaving  unsavory  traces 
behind  him.  Mr.  Randolph,  senior,  returned  to  his 
place  up  the  Hudson,  where  he  is  occasionally  visited 
by  his  married  daughter.  Ed  entered  the  office  of 
the  latter's  husband,  in  the  capacity  of  clerk,  and  is 
doing  well.  As  for  Mile.  Marana,  the  famous  prima 
donna,  she  has  vanished  as  utterly  as  if  she  had  never 
had  any  existence.  There  are  two  or  three  persons 
in  New  York  who  are  believed  to  know  something 
about  her ;  there  are  perhaps  a  dozen  who  know 
enough  to  look  wise  when  the  matter  is  broached  in 
their  presence  ;  there  are  a  hundred  or  two  who  have 
heard  a  report  to  the  effect  that  there  were  some 
facts  connected  with  .  her  engagement  in  this  city 
which'  have  never  been  fully  explained  ;  but  the  great 
mass  of  the  public  have  never  been  at  the  pains  to 
entertain  any  misgivings  on  the  subject.  They  con- 
tent themselves  with  looking  forward  to  the  time 
when  that  most  faithful  and  enterprising  of  impres- 
sarios,  General  Inigo,  shall  once  more  bring  out,  at 
his  new  opera  house,  the  Great  Marana. 

THE   END. 


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